Death

Tales of the Potato Chip King

I opened my eyes, and I was floating in the shadowy otherworld. The purple string was still connected to my stomach, but it was more like a tether in this case. The purple string was pulling me along, down the tunnel-like passage, past glowing bits of violet wall, past odd protrusions that I couldn't help but stare at and see human figures within.

Before long, the tether stopped pulling at me, and the purple string was leading down into the 'floor'. I closed my eyes and let the other dimension go, allowing myself to slip back into the real world.

The shadows hadn't led me astray, because I was standing in the king's chamber, having just stepped out of a void. He was sitting on his throne, mouth open, a potato chip balanced on his lip, crumbs falling onto his lap.

"Hello," I said, smirked at him, and then sat down on his floor.

"You can't be here, you're dead," he said, frowning at me. I shrugged.

"I want a potato chip," I said, and crossed my arms. A little rubbery hand made of shadows emerged from my stomach and grabbed a chip from his bag, recoiling and dropping it in my lap. "Um, okay."

Seriously? You're not worried about the fact that there's a monster in your stomach stealing potato chips from the king of hell? ... okay, this is the strangest thing that's ever happened.

So, did you notice that I left for a little bit? Well, I'm back now, and my interruptions will only get worse! Mwa ha ha. There is no escape.

Also, I feel like I should be honest with you. Remember, a lot earlier, when I said that if you noticed any discrepancies between my personality and Mort's, you were too perceptive for your own good? And all the weird stuff that's been happening with me, and how I'm actually in the story somehow?

There's an explanation for that. I'm not an older version of Mortician. I've been lying to you from the start.

So, I'll leave you to chew on that and go back to my wisecracking! Have fun!

"Seriously, you have to leave," said the King, looking over his shoulder nervously. "You can't be in here. You're a fugitive from the Egyptian mythologies, and I'm a Roman mythology. Things could get really bad."

I raised an eyebrow. "First Democratists, now a rivalry between the godly pantheons? You're kidding me."

The King sighed. "It's my kingdom, and I can't even put anyone in jail. I'm a puppet king. Why do I even insist on being called 'Your Majesty'? It's ridiculous."

I could tell that he was going to start ranting about how he wasn't a real monarch, so I cut him off. "Okay, I'm a fugitive from deadly justice, allegedly dead, and I'm being eaten alive by the shadows I'm supposed to be controlling."

He propped his head on his hand and looked morosely at the ground. "At least they fetch potato chips for you. My subjects just want me to make the Underworld a better place to be. Like, nobody's technically living here, since they're all dead, so why do I have to? I wasn't elected, so I don't have to do what they say!"

"Shut up, you whiny king. Do I need to repeat my problems at you? Now, fix it, or I won't help you win the war against the demi-humans," I said, mentally congratulating myself for placing this verbal trap. If he confirmed the fact that the war was against the demi-humans, then I'd know the shadow girl wasn't lying, at least about one thing.

That's literally the most obvious verbal trap ever. He's an idiot if he can't figure that out.

"You found out, huh? Who told you?" he asked, sticking his finger in the potato chip bag and licking salt off of it. "Was it Eyes? She seemed to like you. Kind of."

I stand corrected. Well, no I don't. I was right, he is an idiot. What kind of a king with all these problems just sits in his throne room and does nothing all day but eat potato chips?

I shook my head. "No, it wasn't Eyes. And I have some questions for you, and you'd better not lie, because my demi-human powers can tell me the truth," I invented.

Okay, if he believes that one, then I'm giving up. Seriously.

"Whatever. Ask away, I probably won't even be king in a week or so, and then it'll be too late. I'll be out of the loop. Anyway, go ahead," he said, slinging his legs over the armrest of his throne.

I thought that he was being a little too nice to someone who had just appeared in his throne room, but I needed my questions answered. So caution was thrown to the wind. "Do you reapers put demi-humans' ghosts into the heads of living demi-humans?" I asked.

He shook his head, looking genuinely confused. "No. We don't have any authority over the ghosts of demi-humans. They automatically head to whichever Paradise they'd like."

I frowned. "So, then, am I dead?"

"No, you're pretty alive. I totally thought you were dead, though. It's a surprise, is what it is." He didn't display any emotion until he looked into his chip bag to find that all of the salt had been licked clean already. Then, an expression of pure dismay crossed his face.

"So, then, why was I put on trial?"

"Because everybody thought you were dead. There was lava or something on top of you, right? Your body was totally destroyed. Do you have any chips?"

"Wait, but if I'm a demi-human, then you can't put me on trial! You just said that!" I exclaimed. The more I learned, the more confused I was.

"Hm. We weren't putting you on trial as a demi-human. Just as an offender. The Egyptian mythologies botched it." He paused for a second, and then, seeing that I was temporarily out of questions, said something that completely surprised me. I wasn't expecting it at all.

"Do you want to be queen alongside me?"