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order_of_chaosTitle: Figments of Reality
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
order_of_chaos
For:khohen1. As is the one a few entries back, if you missed that. Enjoy!
Characters: Mort, Mort, Chico.
Rating: G
Summary: Mort can't tell for sure whether he's dead or not, but he remembers killing Chico, and Chico's there with him.
Warnings: Possible deadness. Mort.
AN: I was tempted to call this As You Like It, because really It's
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Figments of Reality
Mort was dead. He could tell that, because the familiar weight of warm, semi-incontinent canine had settled across his feet, scattering salt-and-pepper dog hair over his dressing gown. Zombies weren’t usually warm, he thought – and Chico was dead, wasn’t he? He hadn’t just imagined that? He remembered the screwdriver. Red, it had been red. Hadn’t it?
Hold it together, Mort. You’ve seen things that aren’t real before. What’s one more?
“Too bloody much, that’s what.” He snarled at his mirror. “I thought I broke you.”
Did you? Perhaps we’re all dead, then. Broken glass is pretty, don’t you think?
Mort shook his head impatiently. “I can’t be dead – this isn’t hell.” He ran his fingers through his hair, snagging on the occasional tangle, and frowned. “Hell wouldn’t have potato chips, for one thing. And Chico’s here.”
Is he?
The screwdriver had been red; the blood black. Shouldn’t it have been the other way around?
“Chico?” The dog’s tail thumped against his leg. “Chico, boy. I killed you – Shooter did. Didn’t I?”
Thump.
You’ll never know for sure, pilgrim. Does it matter?
Did it matter? Mort leaned forward to scratch behind his dog’s ears. “No. This is fine.” Chico was there, after all.
His mirror smiled.
Thump.
Author:
order_of_chaosFor:
khohen1. As is the one a few entries back, if you missed that. Enjoy!Characters: Mort, Mort, Chico.
Rating: G
Summary: Mort can't tell for sure whether he's dead or not, but he remembers killing Chico, and Chico's there with him.
Warnings: Possible deadness. Mort.
AN: I was tempted to call this As You Like It, because really It's
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Figments of Reality
Mort was dead. He could tell that, because the familiar weight of warm, semi-incontinent canine had settled across his feet, scattering salt-and-pepper dog hair over his dressing gown. Zombies weren’t usually warm, he thought – and Chico was dead, wasn’t he? He hadn’t just imagined that? He remembered the screwdriver. Red, it had been red. Hadn’t it?
Hold it together, Mort. You’ve seen things that aren’t real before. What’s one more?
“Too bloody much, that’s what.” He snarled at his mirror. “I thought I broke you.”
Did you? Perhaps we’re all dead, then. Broken glass is pretty, don’t you think?
Mort shook his head impatiently. “I can’t be dead – this isn’t hell.” He ran his fingers through his hair, snagging on the occasional tangle, and frowned. “Hell wouldn’t have potato chips, for one thing. And Chico’s here.”
Is he?
The screwdriver had been red; the blood black. Shouldn’t it have been the other way around?
“Chico?” The dog’s tail thumped against his leg. “Chico, boy. I killed you – Shooter did. Didn’t I?”
Thump.
You’ll never know for sure, pilgrim. Does it matter?
Did it matter? Mort leaned forward to scratch behind his dog’s ears. “No. This is fine.” Chico was there, after all.
His mirror smiled.
Thump.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-04 11:09 pm (UTC)*blinks out of daze* And I'm glad you liked my one! Mort is such fun to write.
God, it is so sad how much I love that movie...
In that case... *joins you in abject misery*