Mort by Loki Renard EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Loki Renard
- Language: English
- Genre: Fantasy Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
A young man stood on his porch, trying to throw a rope up and over a
beam. He was shirtless and in boxers. Mort was presented the sight
of his musculature working in the sweaty evening, a gleaming sheen
that highlighted the sinewy lines of his body. There was something very
innocent about the sight, even as his face contorted with frustration when
the end of the rope flopped back down on the wrong side of the rafter. A
soft sob made its way to Mort, the only wet thing in an ocean of dry.
The man did not notice he was being watched. They never did. They were
always so preoccupied with bringing an end to things. They thought they
were alone. But he was always there. It was one of the many sorrows of his
business, watching the lie of isolation claim lives.
“Are you really quitting?”
Mort looked over his shoulder. His cousin was standing behind him. Kitten
hissed at the dog-headed Anubis and took refuge in Mort’s hood. Mort
glanced at Anubis briefly, then turned his attention back to the suicide.
“Yes.”
“So why are you here?” Anubis always spoke in a soft growl.
“Coincidence.”
His cousin smiled, sharp canines flashing in desert sun. “We both know
better than to believe in coincidences. You are here because you are meant
to be here.”
“You can go,” Mort said. “I have this in hand.”
“But you are no longer conducting souls. You are no longer a psychopomp.
What good can you do him?”
“You can go,” Mort repeated, his teeth gritted, the hollow of his eye
flashing dark for a moment in a revelation of his true self. “I have this in
hand.”
“How? Oh. Ohhhhh….” The last oh was drawn out in a kind of mocking
pity. “Oh, you’re not going to try to save him, are you? How perfectly
pathetic.”
The man had succeeded in finally getting the end of his rope over the rafter,
an achievement that bought him no joy whatsoever. He tugged on the rope,
finding it suitably sturdy. He then began to construct the wrong kind of
knot.
Mort stood in the driveway and watched while the kitten in his hood purred.
He observed the man closely, his gaze taking in the way his dirty blond hair
fell just shy of his shoulders. Sweat was beading in the bristle along his
jawline. He hadn’t shaved. His physique was powerful, but not bulky. He
had the frame of a survivor, in spite of the fact he was very much engaged
in attempting the opposite.
He had no sense of his beauty or uniqueness. He did not see himself the
way Mort did. His expression was contorted in the kind of self-reproach and
loathing that showed he was actively hating himself even while trying to
end himself. There was no compassion, no forgiveness, only a fixated,
narrow view of what he imagined would be the end.
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