Mordecai's death

The sun was beating down on the park, but the heat did nothing to simmer Benson’s temper. His head was a vibrant, glowing shade of crimson, his glass dome rattling with every shouted syllable.

"I don't care if you found a rare arcade token in the hedges, Rigby! I told you to clear the gutters three hours ago!" Benson roared, his arms flailing. "Where is Mordecai? If he’s off playing video games while you’re slacking, I’m firing you both! I mean it this time!"

Rigby leaned back against the golf cart, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. "Chill out, Benson. Mordecai went to get the ladder from the shed. He’s probably just... I don't know, taking a nap in there or something."

"He’s not taking a nap! He’s being irresponsible!" Benson stepped closer, his face inches from the raccoon’s. "And you’re going to find him, and then you’re both going to—"

"Benson! Benson, come quickly!"

The frantic voice belonged to Pops. The elderly man was sprinting across the lawn, his spindly legs moving faster than anyone had seen them move in years. His top hat was lopsided, and his face was pale, devoid of its usual jolly pink hue.

"Pops? What’s wrong?" Benson asked, his anger instantly evaporating into confusion.

"It’s Mordecai! Near the porch! Oh, it’s simply dreadful!" Pops wailed, pointing a trembling finger toward the main house.

In the distance, the low, mournful wail of a siren cut through the air. Red and blue lights flickered against the trees, reflecting off the windows of the house. An ambulance was tearing up the driveway, kicking up gravel as it screeched to a halt.

Benson and Rigby didn't wait for another word. They ran.

They rounded the corner of the house and skidded to a stop. Skips, Muscle Man, and Hi-Five Ghost were already there, standing in a semi-circle. Muscle Man wasn't making any jokes; he was staring at the ground, his lower lip trembling. Skips had his head bowed, his massive shoulders slumped in a way that made him look small.

There, sprawled on the grass just beneath the porch steps, was Mordecai.

He looked as if he had simply fallen. There was no blood, no sign of a struggle—just a terrifying, hollow stillness. His eyes were closed, and his chest wasn't moving.

"Mordecai?" Rigby called out, his voice small and cracking. "Hey, man, get up. Benson’s actually gonna kill us this time. Stop joking around."

The paramedics rushed past them, frantic and professional. They knelt beside the blue jay, checking for a pulse, applying a defibrillator, shouting codes that sounded like gibberish to the park staff. Five minutes passed. Ten.

Then, the head paramedic stopped. He looked at his watch, then looked up at Benson with a somber, heavy expression. He slowly shook his head.

"I’m sorry," the paramedic said softly. "There was nothing we could do. It looks like a sudden cardiac event. He’s gone."

The world seemed to lose its color. Benson fell back against the side of the house, his jaw slack. Muscle Man let out a choked sob and buried his face in his hands.

Rigby stood frozen. He watched as they pulled a white sheet over his best friend’s face. He watched as they lifted the stretcher.

"No," Rigby whispered. Then, louder, "No! You’re wrong! He’s just tired! Mordecai, get up! Get up right now!"

He lunged forward, trying to grab the stretcher, but Skips caught him in a powerful grip. Rigby thrashed, his claws digging into Skips’ fur, but the yeti didn't flinch.

"Rigby, stop," Skips said, his voice thick with a grief he was trying to suppress.

"Let me go! He’s fine! He’s fine!" Rigby screamed. But as the ambulance doors closed and the vehicle drove away without its sirens, the reality crashed down on him. The raccoon collapsed onto the grass, curling into a ball, and let out a harrowing, jagged scream of pure agony.

***

Two weeks later, the park didn't look like a place of recreation. It looked like a cathedral of grief.

The wide lawn in front of the house had been filled with rows of folding chairs. A long, black carpet led from the driveway to a raised wooden podium. The air was heavy with the scent of lilies and damp earth.

It seemed as though everyone who had ever known Mordecai had arrived to pay their respects. Margaret sat in the front row next to Eileen, both of them dressed in black, their eyes red and puffy. Even CJ was there, sitting several rows back, her cloud-like hair a dark, stormy gray. Death himself stood in the shadows of the trees, leaning against his scythe, looking unusually solemn as he removed his top hat.

The silence was broken only by the soft, rhythmic sound of footsteps. The park workers walked in a slow procession, acting as pallbearers alongside Mordecai’s parents. The casket was a deep, polished mahogany.

Rigby walked at the front, his eyes fixed on his feet. He looked like a ghost of himself. He hadn't slept, hadn't eaten much, and the usual spark of mischief in his eyes had been replaced by a vacant, hollow stare.

They set the casket down on the stands in front of the house. Benson stepped up to the podium. He took a deep breath, his hands trembling as he adjusted his black tie. He looked out at the crowd, then down at the casket, and cleared his throat.

"Mordecai wasn't just an employee," Benson began, his voice surprisingly steady despite the tears welling in his eyes. "He was... he was the heart of this park. Even when he was driving me crazy, even when he was slacking off with Rigby, he had a way of making this place feel like a home instead of just a job. He was a good man. A loyal friend. And the park will never be the same without him."

Benson stepped down, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. One by one, the others took their turn.

Pops spoke of Mordecai’s "jolly spirit" and how the heavens surely had a special place for such a kind soul. Muscle Man tried to tell a story about a prank they had pulled, but he broke down halfway through, sobbing into Hi-Five Ghost’s shoulder. Skips spoke briefly, his voice a low rumble, promising that Mordecai’s memory would be guarded as long as the park stood.

Finally, a figure moved toward the podium. It was Margaret.

She walked with a slow, hesitant grace. When she reached the microphone, she looked down at the casket, her hand reaching out to touch the cold wood for a brief second before she pulled away.

"I've spent a lot of time thinking about what to say," Margaret said, her voice barely a whisper. "Mordecai was my best friend for a long time. We went through so much together. The coffee shop, the parties, the... the awkwardness."

A faint, sad ripple of laughter went through the crowd.

"He was always there," she continued, a tear finally breaking free and rolling down her cheek. "Whenever I needed a ride, or a laugh, or just someone to sit in silence with, he was there. He was the most selfless person I knew. He’d jump into a volcano for his friends without thinking twice."

She paused, her breath hitching. She looked at Rigby, who was staring at her with wide, watery eyes.

"There’s something I never told him," Margaret said, her voice trembling violently now. "I thought there would be more time. I thought we’d eventually figure it out, or that the timing would finally be right. But the truth is... I loved him. I’ve had a crush on him since the day we met at the coffee shop, and I was too scared to just say it when it mattered."

She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. "I’m so sorry, Mordecai. I’m so sorry I didn't say it."

Eileen stood up and moved to the podium, wrapping an arm around Margaret to lead her back to her seat. The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating under the weight of "what ifs" and "could have beens."

Rigby stood up. He didn't go to the podium. He walked straight to the casket.

He climbed up onto the small step-stool that had been placed there so people could see inside. He looked at Mordecai, who looked peaceful, dressed in a suit he would have hated.

"You're an idiot, Mordecai," Rigby whispered, loud enough for only the first row to hear. "You're a huge idiot for leaving me here with these guys."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn, plastic object. It was a controller for their old video game console. He tucked it into the side of the casket, wedging it against Mordecai’s arm.

"Don't start the game without me," Rigby said, his voice finally breaking into a sob. "I'll be there soon enough to beat your score. I promise."

As the sun began to set, casting long, golden shadows across the park he had spent his life tending, the blue jay began his final journey into the earth. The workers stood in a line, watching as the first shovelful of dirt fell.

It was a normal day at the park, but for the first time in history, nobody was slacking off. They were simply remembering the bird who had made the work worth doing.