Day 10 trivia night and I have come for your soul

I'm late I'm late. Huge mess at the hospital today. We have a viral infection in the biggest ward right now and the playroom was shut down all day. Parents were not in the best mood. Luckily the kids are mostly okay, we have everyone on droplet precautions so all the healthcare workers are running around in masks, gowns and gloves. I got to play IT instead, trying to fix our game systems without so much as a screw driver. Oi.

Anyways I'm late because we had trivia night tonight at Collins. We had an argument over whether jaundice is an illness or a symptom of liver disease. I think the latter.

Now onto the prompt.

Day 10: You are the Grim Reaper. Write three different opening paragraphs for your autobiography, trying out very different styles. 

You all come to me someday. Some of you come to me unwillingly, pleading that there had been a mistake. You tell me about the dearest woman you're leaving behind, or the helpless son, or the dependent, ageing parent. I try to calm you. They will all come here, some day. There is only too early or on time to come to me, but never has there been someone who was never supposed to come. Some of you, however, come willingly, even gladly. You take my hand, express your surprise that death is a plump matronly woman, and walk on with me. You tell me about all those who have already come to me, and how you have missed them. You are glad that you have finally reached your time. Children, murderers, millionaires and even doctors, who so often wretch people back from me. You all are destined to come back to me. You left me to be born. You come back to me to die. 

All right, all right yatter mouths. God, you had some crap humor when you let humans exist. I can deal with animals. They are born, they live, do their bit, and then die. I pick them up and they treat it matter of factly, just coming with me. But man those humans. I've spent only a small bit of my existence looking after them but they're the biggest pain in my book. I thought mass extinctions were bad, working me around the clock. Nope, SOMEONE had to go make things in his likeness, peh. These humans are always whining. 'Don't take me!' 'Is this hell?' 'I thought you'd look taller...'. For the record, no one in their right mind would run around in a cape. And why would I need a scythe? Not that I don't want one to silence some of these people, but they're already dead. Worst working conditions ever. Especially when we had the flood. Those toga-wearing, laurel-leaf totting pompous dipswitches made lakes out of puddles. At least they tipped. Now it's nothing but dragging people away by their ankles. There's no justice in this world. God has it so much better. 

No, no, not another one. I cradle a still pink and crying scrap of a human baby. Poor thing's neck is wrapped with its own umbilical cord. I unwound it and carry the child on. That's my lot in existence, to clean you up and lead you away from life. So many of you come to me as a bloodied mess or a sobbing wreck, but I will fix you. Where I take you to is not better than life. It's not even different. It's incomparable and beyond your mind until you have reached it, the way a line of a piece of paper cannot appreciate the hand that has drawn it into existence. I try to tell you that. You are the young girl with make-up streaked eyes that I wipe dry, and bloody criss crosses on your arm. You are the old man, clutching your crutch and hoping to see your love that passed on 20 years ago to me. You are the soldier, crawling to me with twisted or lost limbs that I repair. Then you, all of you, walk on with me. I have loved each and every one of you since you came into existence as you know it, and I will walk with you as you leave it. Now come, stop crying my dear, and walk with me.