Death is My BFFLAD Rewritten (Book 2 of the Rewritten Death Chronicles)

Death Introduces Readers to Death Is My BFFLAD Rewritten

SETTING: A cement basement. The walls are old and cracked and there are dry and wet bloodstains all over the place. Death is sprawled out like a cat on a massive chair that resembles a throne. Between both hands, he stretches out a pair of Faith's skull panties. He wears his long, thick cloak, which outlines his bulging muscles. The cloak is hitched because of his position, revealing a portion of his leather pants and untied combat boots. Behind his throne-chair, Scytherella gleams under a flickering florescent light.

Death his whips his hooded head towards his audience. "Hello, I missed me too," he begins. "I know what else you're thinking. Why the fuck am I wearing clothes? I know, how disappointing." He looks at his gloved fingertips, as if he was bored and checking his nails. Under his breath, he mutters, "Looks like Faith Williams isn't the only prude." He sings. "Hashtag, shade..."

"If you don't know who I am"–he stops and throws back his head, laughing–"well of course you know who I am, I'm the whole damn series. But maybe you're confused because you were supposed to be reading about some teenage girl boo-hooing over her boyish stepbrother, and instead, you accidently clicked on my masculine, hot ass." He shrugs. "It happens. I can't promise there will be any boyish stepbrothers in this book, but there are a hell of a lot of puns and...sex jokes?"

Death leisurely stands up to his massive height and his tongue darts out from the shadow over his face. He slowly licks something off his fingers and stalks forward, clasping his hands behind his back. As he walks, metal weapons move underneath his cloak. "Let's get down to business, my little slaves. And we aren't defeating any Huns. This is Book 2 of the REWRITTEN series. If you've read Death Is My BFF Rewritten and you're here now, then congratulations, you can read. If you didn't read Death Is My BFF Rewritten, then I'll act it out for you right now."

The camera pans to massive neon flashes in the background that reads: Death's Overly Dramatic, Biased, and Somewhat Inaccurate Interpretation of Death Is My BFF Rewritten!

Death stumbles forward, grabbing his stomach and switches to falsetto. "I'm Faith. Ugh, poor me. I was shot when I was little and my mother wouldn't stop, like, sobbing. Like, ouch. Hopefully someone will make time for me in his very busy schedule and complicated but blissful life, without annoying female humans whining in his ear, and save my pathetic self."

He walks to the other side of the room and changes posture, morphing into his own character. He strikes a pose as if he's hot shit and flicks his wrist at the air. "I'm Death, yadda-yadda. Here. Live, or whatever, but I get soul your when you're 18."

He puts his hands on his hips and changes his voice to a sassy falsetto one. "I'm eighteen year old Faith, and you better recognize. I'm a huge B-I-T-C-H and don't think for a second I'm giving you my soul without a fight." He smacks his ass. "If I didn't have big boobs and a tasteful underwear drawer, Death wouldn't even put up with my whiny self–"

"Your shoes are untied."

Death snaps out of character and looks to his right. Faith strolls into the cement basement wearing a black t-shirt, medium washed jeans, and black combat boots. Her straight black hair is in a braid and she's wearing smoky eye makeup.

"That's right, it's me." She steps forward and Death quietly sniffs the air. "Is that how it really went, Death?"

"Well I wasn't finished, woman." He shoos her. "You're in my limelight."

"Don't you shoo me."

Death growls lowly. "Who let you in here? This is my time to shine. Hello, I'm the one whose name is in every title in the books, It's not called Bitch Is My BFF. I'm in high demand."