Member-only story
Word for Word: Mort
I’m in a writers’ group that meets on Zoom, though before the pandemic we met in person. Every week, we do a writing prompt: someone gives a page number, and our organizer picks a word from a huge dictionary. We write for five minutes. In this example, the word is: Mort.
Draped in black crepe and using a scythe as a walking stick, Mort silently entered the drawing room. They raised a skeletal hand and pointed at my aunt. My eyes upon the cloaked figure of Death, I wasn’t watching my aunt as she exhaled her last breath.
Other family members rose and approached the chaise lounge upon which my aunt reclined. Curious about the clammer, I turned to look… and only saw the backs of many people gathered around my aunt. I glanced once more at Mort and wondered if I was the only one who had observed the Grim Reaper.
I rose from my armchair and joined the others. My aunt’s open eyes were dark and opaque, her skin ashen gray. Disturbed by the sight and the energy of those around me — and I knew I was the only one present who was sufficiently free of brainwashing to despise this aunt — I backed away. I turned to look at Mort, but the dreaded presence had left as silently as it had arrived.
I am delighted to announce that Cloaked Press published my story “Theater Patron” in Kaleidoscope — A Queer Anthology. Proceeds support the Trevor Project.