Mortuus walked the streets of Crater Hollow. The only light guiding him was that from his cannabis pen. Sure, Crater Hollow had streetlights, but they had been used since The Stitcher's arrival.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEnRParz79h
It was a beautiful night for such a terrible existence in the town. A sizeable bright moon was partly hidden behind the misty clouds of grey that hung in the sky like gorgeous birds of smoke on a canvas of midnight navy blue and speckles of white stars.
A gentle breeze elegantly danced through the crisp night air, the trees swaying in unison with its light blow. Had Mortuus lived in Crater Hollow before The Stitcher's arrival, he may have thought the lack of people was strange, but as far as he knew, this was how things had always been.
Mortuus stopped and admired the beautiful scenery around him. Nothing was more gorgeous to him than the view from the old dust-laden bridge that spans the river connecting Crater Hollow to the outside world. Once a staple of the town, the Crater Hollow Bridge is now only a tragic reminder of its glory days. The bridge used to bring people from all over to see its gorgeous curving Gothic frame.
Mortuus rested his arms on the bridge's rail, cradling his head in his hands, the bridge creaking as he did so. Mortuus sighed as he lifted his head up to look forward off the bridge's edge.
He stared into the waters below, fish swimming peacefully- an occasional frog croaking and jumping from lily pad to lily pad. Mortuus stood listening to the harmonic sounds of nature. A little waterfall trickled down over the rocks, its quiet sound so peaceful on the silent summer night.
"I save so many people, but who's gonna save me?" Mortuus tossed a small stone over the edge; it elegantly glided across the water's surface, leaving ripples in its wake. It skipped four times before sinking into the murky waters.
"I'm a monster." He sighed and puffed on his cannabis pen. The mysterious figure appeared again in the tall grass above the water. Its silent presence was oddly loud in the surrounding nature.
"You were blessed with a second chance, Mortuus. You aren't a monster. You are our hope for a better future." The figure breathed. It seemed as though it was crying, but maybe it was just a trick of the voice.
"That's where you're wrong," Mortuus inhaled deeply, puffing out a large white cloud of smoke that climbed the sky. "This isn't an angel's blessing; it's a devil's promise."
The figure silently stepped back further into the darkness, fading into nothing as it seemed to accept his response. Mortuus walked away from the bridge, still using the cannabis pen, getting higher and higher with each puff.
Mortuus gazed up at the night sky. "Mordecai, you should have left me dead. I'm not your hope." He continued walking with his hands in his pockets.
At night, the town of Crater Hollow was nothing compared to the day. One could easily mistake it for a ghost town. Rows upon rows of boarded windows and bolted doors lined the streets. Occasionally, a poster would blow across the street, carried by the wind.
Sometimes, Mortuus liked to walk the streets and imagine that he was on his way home to a wife and kids. It was a happy thought, but eventually, the crushing reality of isolation would seep its way back into his mind.
The sad truth of Mortuus's "life" was that no one cared about him, and those who did were simply hallucinations brought on by his utter loneliness. The loneliness that only a dead man could ever know. It was clear he was unhappy, but no one cared.
Mortuus walked past the fountain in the town center and made his way up the bell tower stairs to the top—a small room up above, just below the large bell.
Mortuus lay on the edge of an edifice, one leg and hand dangling off the edge, his cannabis pen hanging loosely between two fingers of his right hand. Slowly, he lifted it to his mangled lips, parting the bandages as he took a puff on the pen.
Mortuus turned his head to the setting sun. Sighing with a breath of smoke, he spoke to a dark figure, not looking away from the sunset. "The fuck do you want now?" He asked coldly, looking down and coughing the smoke.
The figure spoke with empathy, "You should not smoke that so much."
Mortuus took a long puff on the pen, blowing a ring of smoke out over the edge. "Well, I also shouldn't still be alive, yet here we are."
The figure continued, "You were given a second chance-"
Mortuus sat up, putting the pen in his pocket. "Fuck your whole second chance speech! This isn't a fable! This is my life-" He sighed heavily, sitting down on the ledge again and resting his head in his hands as he spoke quietly. "If you can call this Hell, living."
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