The Eternal
By: Albert Mintae Kim
The Death
In the land of the dead, reapers usher the spirits of the dead across a river. One such
reaper, Grimm, has done this for over six hundred years.
Unquenched
Grimm studied the familiar map showing where to collect his next spirit. As he
approached, the spirit eyed him with disdain, and refused to pay for the ride. Grimm,
momentarily taken aback, informed him that no money was needed to cross, after which the
spirit happily boarded. Grimm asked the spirit his name and where he came from, but the
spirit scoffed, insisting on payment for his answers. Grimm rolled his eyes beneath his hood,
but tossed the spirit a gold coin, the metallic clink echoing in the stillness. The routine of
ferrying souls through the underworld had left Grimm thoroughly unentertained, and the
spirits’ tales were one of the few diversions left to him. The spirit boasted of his wealth,
declaring himself the richest man Grimm would ever meet. Grimm inquired how he’d made
his fortune, but the spirit demanded another coin. Grimm sighed, and tossed another into the
spirit’s hands. This exchange continued as both Grimm’s purse and patience shrank. Finally,
Grimm, weary of the game, offered his coffin as the final payment. The spirit, eyes gleaming,
accepted. With a swift motion, Grimm slammed the lid shut, trapping the spirit inside. As the
spirit’s panicked screams echoed from within, Grimm leaned close and murmured that he
could be freed - for the price of all his gold. Desperate, the spirit handed over the coins.
Grimm watched as the coffin was pushed off the boat, sinking into the dark waters. A quiet
chuckle escaped him as the last ripples faded. “Serves him right,” Grim thought with
satisfaction.
Unholy Fire
The next spirit got into the boat and sat beside Grimm. The spirit began to talk
incessantly about his life before he died, claiming to have owned an establishment that
catered to the true desires of men’s hearts, “If you know what I mean,” he said with a wink.
Grimm scowled silently beneath his mask, but he felt an unsettling warmth creeping up his
neck. He began to talk crassly about a woman who he had been obsessed with. As the story
unfolded, Grimm felt a strange mix of revulsion and something darker, a sensation he
couldn’t quite name, tightening in his chest. The spirit’s tale grew more bizarre and then
horrible, yet Grimm found himself reacting to the unwelcome heat spreading within him. He
commanded the spirit to stop, but he refused - to Grimm’s disgust, the spirit was proud of his
doing. In a fit of revulsion, Grimm burned the spirit’s tongue out. He shivered as he watched
the rest of the spirit dissolve into ashes.
Yearning
Grimm paddled weakly towards the next spirit. He considered turning his boat
around. How much longer would he have to endure these shameless, sinful souls? But he
knew the terms of his sentence, so he rowed on, resigned. He approached the spirit who
boarded his boat with a large bag slung over his shoulder. The spirit’s eyes darted around the
boat, his gaze hungry, assessing anything of potential value. “I’m a collector,” the spirit said,
his voice oily. Grimm felt his skin crawl at the way the spirit fidgeted nervously like he had
an insect. The spirit demanded Grimm’s boat, to which Grimm replied that it was not his to
give. Undeterred, the spirit then insisted he would take Grimm’s scythe instead. Grimm’s
mouth curled in disgust, “So be it.” He handed over his scythe which began to grow heavier
and heavier in the spirit’s hands. The spirit could not release the scythe and called out for
help. Grimm rowed on in silence as the spirit was crushed beneath its weight. When the spirit
had stopped squirming, Grimm rummaged through the bag, pulling out a small flask filled
with a cloudy amber liquid. He tucked the bottle into the folds of his cloak, then used his foot
to push the bag and body into the water. As the spirit’s body sank, Grimm felt as if he too
were being crushed by an unbearable weight.
Lemon Juice
Grimm awoke to find a new spirit beside him absorbed in his phone. Grimm asked the
spirit who he was and how he’d gotten onto Grimm’s boat. The spirit ignored him, continuing
to type silently. Grimm’s eyes narrowed. He remembered the vial in his cloak and removed it,
pouring it over the spirit’s head. “This’ll teach you a lesson.” The liquid began to work
immediately, melting the spirit like wax dripping from a candle. As the spirit disintegrated, a
terrible pain shot through Grimm’s head, his vision blurring as his eyes burned. Darkness
descended upon him once again, but not before a vision flickered in his mind. Grimm saw a
young boy sitting lazily in front of a fire as a pot of food boiled over on the stove behind him.
The boy stared blankly into the flames, oblivious to the smoke beginning to fill the room.
Grimm watched as the fire began to spread, the boy unmoving, lost in idleness.
Snake’s Eye
When he came to, a deep, bone-weary exhaustion weighed him down like never
before. He gripped his oar weakly, attempting to row away from the next spirit, but despite
his efforts, the boat only drew closer. When he reached the next location, the spirit stepped
onto the boat in silence, taking a seat across from him. Grimm noticed the name “Peter”
embroidered in red letters on her shirt. Grimm questioned her, trying to pull some response
from her lifeless gaze, but she only stared at him with empty eyes. “You are not Peter,” she
whispered feebly. Grimm tried to ignore her words and continue on with his task, but her
cold, dead stare stirred something within him. He lunged forward and grabbed her by the
back of the neck shoving her head into the water. As she struggled, Grimm felt his own lungs
fill with water. He gasped and sputtered, falling to his knees beside her, the darkness
swallowing him. In his vision, Grimm stood beside the woman outside their home, a sense of
familiarity gnawing at him. He felt the eyes of a man upon them, and as the man approached,
Grimm knew with a chilling certainty that it was himself.
Adam
Grimm awoke to two men standing over him. One man gripped his wrists tightly, and
commanded the other to strike. The first blow landed hard across Grimm’s face, followed by
another, and another, each one harder than the last. Grimm saw that blood smeared across the
man’s knuckles, as Grimm slowly realized that the blood was his own. In a panic, Grimm
wrenched himself free from the grip of the other man, and instinctively reached for his
scythe. With a swift, brutal motion, he drove the blade into the heart of the spirit above him,
watching as the figure toppled lifelessly into the water. Without hesitation, Grimm turned and
kicked the other spirit into the same dark depths. As he began to row his boat away, the water
around him turned red, the spirit’s blood spreading like ink in the river. Grimm fell to his
knees and saw his reflection in the bloody water as if in a mirror. The face staring back at him
was not his own, but that of the man from his visions - a face he now recognized as his own.
A cold dread settled over him as he grasped his scythe tightly, his hands trembling. Slowly,
he brought the blade to his neck, the sharp edge pressing against his skin, as a dark resolve
gripped his mind. He was determined to end it, to escape the torment of his existence.
Gilded Void
Just then, a sphere of light appeared before Grimm transfixing him. The light led him
down the river to a darkened gateway. As the sphere guided Grimm inside, the darkness
faded to light. The sphere guided Grimm to two doors. One was ornate and beautiful, its
wooden frame carved with an image of pearly gates swung wide open, surely a symbol of
salvation, of an end to this torment. But flames licked at the door, burning eternally, turning
what should have been inviting into something terrible and foreboding. The other door was
plain, almost ominously so, its dark surface unadorned and cold. Grimm felt a pull toward the
dark door, an unspoken understanding that this was the path meant for him. He pushed it
open and found himself in a cave lit by a single torch. The feeble light revealed a simple boat
that contained a coffin, a map, and a scythe. Grimm descended into the boat and picked up
his oar, the weight of his fate settling upon him. With a motion familiar yet heavy with
finality, he rowed his boat out of the cave into the waters beyond, the darkness once again
closing in around him.
In the land of the dead, reapers usher the spirits of the dead across a river. One such
reaper, Grimm, has done this for over six hundred years.
Unquenched
Grimm studied the familiar map showing where to collect his next spirit. As he
approached, the spirit eyed him with disdain, and refused to pay for the ride. Grimm,
momentarily taken aback, informed him that no money was needed to cross, after which the
spirit happily boarded. Grimm asked the spirit his name and where he came from, but the
spirit scoffed, insisting on payment for his answers. Grimm rolled his eyes beneath his hood,
but tossed the spirit a gold coin, the metallic clink echoing in the stillness. The routine of
ferrying souls through the underworld had left Grimm thoroughly unentertained, and the
spirits’ tales were one of the few diversions left to him. The spirit boasted of his wealth,
declaring himself the richest man Grimm would ever meet. Grimm inquired how he’d made
his fortune, but the spirit demanded another coin. Grimm sighed, and tossed another into the
spirit’s hands. This exchange continued as both Grimm’s purse and patience shrank. Finally,
Grimm, weary of the game, offered his coffin as the final payment. The spirit, eyes gleaming,
accepted. With a swift motion, Grimm slammed the lid shut, trapping the spirit inside. As the
spirit’s panicked screams echoed from within, Grimm leaned close and murmured that he
could be freed - for the price of all his gold. Desperate, the spirit handed over the coins.
Grimm watched as the coffin was pushed off the boat, sinking into the dark waters. A quiet
chuckle escaped him as the last ripples faded. “Serves him right,” Grim thought with
satisfaction.
Unholy Fire
The next spirit got into the boat and sat beside Grimm. The spirit began to talk
incessantly about his life before he died, claiming to have owned an establishment that
catered to the true desires of men’s hearts, “If you know what I mean,” he said with a wink.
Grimm scowled silently beneath his mask, but he felt an unsettling warmth creeping up his
neck. He began to talk crassly about a woman who he had been obsessed with. As the story
unfolded, Grimm felt a strange mix of revulsion and something darker, a sensation he
couldn’t quite name, tightening in his chest. The spirit’s tale grew more bizarre and then
horrible, yet Grimm found himself reacting to the unwelcome heat spreading within him. He
commanded the spirit to stop, but he refused - to Grimm’s disgust, the spirit was proud of his
doing. In a fit of revulsion, Grimm burned the spirit’s tongue out. He shivered as he watched
the rest of the spirit dissolve into ashes.
Yearning
Grimm paddled weakly towards the next spirit. He considered turning his boat
around. How much longer would he have to endure these shameless, sinful souls? But he
knew the terms of his sentence, so he rowed on, resigned. He approached the spirit who
boarded his boat with a large bag slung over his shoulder. The spirit’s eyes darted around the
boat, his gaze hungry, assessing anything of potential value. “I’m a collector,” the spirit said,
his voice oily. Grimm felt his skin crawl at the way the spirit fidgeted nervously like he had
an insect. The spirit demanded Grimm’s boat, to which Grimm replied that it was not his to
give. Undeterred, the spirit then insisted he would take Grimm’s scythe instead. Grimm’s
mouth curled in disgust, “So be it.” He handed over his scythe which began to grow heavier
and heavier in the spirit’s hands. The spirit could not release the scythe and called out for
help. Grimm rowed on in silence as the spirit was crushed beneath its weight. When the spirit
had stopped squirming, Grimm rummaged through the bag, pulling out a small flask filled
with a cloudy amber liquid. He tucked the bottle into the folds of his cloak, then used his foot
to push the bag and body into the water. As the spirit’s body sank, Grimm felt as if he too
were being crushed by an unbearable weight.
Lemon Juice
Grimm awoke to find a new spirit beside him absorbed in his phone. Grimm asked the
spirit who he was and how he’d gotten onto Grimm’s boat. The spirit ignored him, continuing
to type silently. Grimm’s eyes narrowed. He remembered the vial in his cloak and removed it,
pouring it over the spirit’s head. “This’ll teach you a lesson.” The liquid began to work
immediately, melting the spirit like wax dripping from a candle. As the spirit disintegrated, a
terrible pain shot through Grimm’s head, his vision blurring as his eyes burned. Darkness
descended upon him once again, but not before a vision flickered in his mind. Grimm saw a
young boy sitting lazily in front of a fire as a pot of food boiled over on the stove behind him.
The boy stared blankly into the flames, oblivious to the smoke beginning to fill the room.
Grimm watched as the fire began to spread, the boy unmoving, lost in idleness.
Snake’s Eye
When he came to, a deep, bone-weary exhaustion weighed him down like never
before. He gripped his oar weakly, attempting to row away from the next spirit, but despite
his efforts, the boat only drew closer. When he reached the next location, the spirit stepped
onto the boat in silence, taking a seat across from him. Grimm noticed the name “Peter”
embroidered in red letters on her shirt. Grimm questioned her, trying to pull some response
from her lifeless gaze, but she only stared at him with empty eyes. “You are not Peter,” she
whispered feebly. Grimm tried to ignore her words and continue on with his task, but her
cold, dead stare stirred something within him. He lunged forward and grabbed her by the
back of the neck shoving her head into the water. As she struggled, Grimm felt his own lungs
fill with water. He gasped and sputtered, falling to his knees beside her, the darkness
swallowing him. In his vision, Grimm stood beside the woman outside their home, a sense of
familiarity gnawing at him. He felt the eyes of a man upon them, and as the man approached,
Grimm knew with a chilling certainty that it was himself.
Adam
Grimm awoke to two men standing over him. One man gripped his wrists tightly, and
commanded the other to strike. The first blow landed hard across Grimm’s face, followed by
another, and another, each one harder than the last. Grimm saw that blood smeared across the
man’s knuckles, as Grimm slowly realized that the blood was his own. In a panic, Grimm
wrenched himself free from the grip of the other man, and instinctively reached for his
scythe. With a swift, brutal motion, he drove the blade into the heart of the spirit above him,
watching as the figure toppled lifelessly into the water. Without hesitation, Grimm turned and
kicked the other spirit into the same dark depths. As he began to row his boat away, the water
around him turned red, the spirit’s blood spreading like ink in the river. Grimm fell to his
knees and saw his reflection in the bloody water as if in a mirror. The face staring back at him
was not his own, but that of the man from his visions - a face he now recognized as his own.
A cold dread settled over him as he grasped his scythe tightly, his hands trembling. Slowly,
he brought the blade to his neck, the sharp edge pressing against his skin, as a dark resolve
gripped his mind. He was determined to end it, to escape the torment of his existence.
Gilded Void
Just then, a sphere of light appeared before Grimm transfixing him. The light led him
down the river to a darkened gateway. As the sphere guided Grimm inside, the darkness
faded to light. The sphere guided Grimm to two doors. One was ornate and beautiful, its
wooden frame carved with an image of pearly gates swung wide open, surely a symbol of
salvation, of an end to this torment. But flames licked at the door, burning eternally, turning
what should have been inviting into something terrible and foreboding. The other door was
plain, almost ominously so, its dark surface unadorned and cold. Grimm felt a pull toward the
dark door, an unspoken understanding that this was the path meant for him. He pushed it
open and found himself in a cave lit by a single torch. The feeble light revealed a simple boat
that contained a coffin, a map, and a scythe. Grimm descended into the boat and picked up
his oar, the weight of his fate settling upon him. With a motion familiar yet heavy with
finality, he rowed his boat out of the cave into the waters beyond, the darkness once again
closing in around him.
Writer's Statement: Albert Mintae Kim is a senior in Vietnam attending True North School. He has a growing passion for philosophy in his search for the purpose of life. He is especially interested in political correctness and civil rights. Through his writing, he aims to clarify the true value of humans and inspire people to become the best version of themselves.