Sad

The afternoon sun beat down on the park, casting long, golden shadows across the meticulously mown grass. It should have been a day of productivity, or at least the usual brand of chaotic slackery that defined life at the park. Instead, the air was thick with the scent of ozone and the rhythmic, vein-popping screams of Benson Dunwoody.

"I don’t care if the cart ran out of gas, Rigby! You were supposed to fill it up yesterday!" Benson’s face was a shade of crimson that rivaled a ripe tomato. His glass dome rattled with every syllable. "If I see you sitting on that porch one more time before those hedges are trimmed, you’re fired!"

Rigby leaned against a rake, his tail twitching in annoyance. "Ugh, chill out, Benson. It’s not like the world is gonna end because of some bushes. Mordecai was supposed to help me anyway, but I haven't seen him since—"

"Benson! Benson! Oh, heavens, come quickly!"

The frantic cry cut through the air like a siren. Pops came sprinting across the lawn, his oversized head bobbing precariously, his face pale with a terror that immediately silenced Benson’s rage. He was pointing toward the side of the main house, his hands trembling violently.

"Pops? What is it? What’s wrong?" Benson asked, his anger evaporating into immediate concern.

"It’s Mordecai! He’s... he’s on the ground! He won't wake up!" Pops wailed, clutching his chest.

Before Rigby could even process the words, the distant, wailing cry of an ambulance siren began to grow louder. Red and blue lights flickered against the trees in the distance, cutting through the peaceful afternoon.

"Mordecai?" Rigby dropped the rake. It hit the dirt with a dull thud. "Stop joking, Pops. He’s probably just napping."

But as they rounded the corner of the house, the reality of the situation hit them like a physical blow. Skips, Muscle Man, and Hi-Five Ghost were already there, standing in a semi-circle of frozen horror.

Mordecai lay sprawled on the pavement just outside the kitchen door. His eyes were half-open, staring blankly at the sky he had always belonged to, but his chest wasn't moving. There was no blood, no sign of a struggle—just a terrifying, absolute stillness.

The paramedics swarmed the area seconds later. The park staff watched in a daze as they performed chest compressions, the rhythmic thumping the only sound against the backdrop of Pops’ quiet sobbing.

Minutes felt like hours. Finally, the lead paramedic stopped. He looked at his watch, then up at the gathered group with a heavy, somber expression. He slowly pulled a white sheet over the blue feathers.

"I'm sorry," the paramedic said softly. "He’s gone."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Muscle Man dropped his chin to his chest, his usual bravado vanishing into a silent tremor. Skips closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging under the weight of a grief he had felt too many times in his long life.

Rigby didn't say a word at first. He just stared at the shape under the sheet. Then, a sound escaped him—a high-pitched, broken whimper that escalated into a guttural sob. He collapsed onto his knees, burying his face in his hands as he wept uncontrollably. His best friend, his brother in everything but blood, was gone.

***

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

Black drapes hung from the porch of the main house. Rows of folding chairs had been set up on the lawn, facing a polished mahogany casket draped in a simple blue floral arrangement. The air was cold for a spring day, as if the sun itself lacked the heart to shine.

The turnout was staggering. It seemed everyone Mordecai had ever encountered had come to pay their respects. Thomas sat in the back row, looking lost. Death himself sat near the aisle, his scythe leaning against a tree, looking uncharacteristically solemn. Even the God of Basketball stood in the shadows, spinning a black basketball slowly on his finger.

Most surprising were the rows filled with familiar faces from the past. CJ sat near the front, her cloud-like hair a dark, stormy gray, her eyes red-rimmed. Further back, even some of the enemies they had fought—the ones who weren't currently disintegrated or in another dimension—stood in silence.

The procession began with a slow, rhythmic drumbeat played by a local band Mordecai had once admired. The park workers walked in a line, their footsteps heavy. Behind them followed Mordecai’s parents, their faces etched with the kind of grief that no parent should ever have to carry.

Benson was the first to take the podium. He looked ten years older than he had two weeks ago. He adjusted his tie, his hands shaking as he laid a piece of paper on the lectern.

"Mordecai wasn't just an employee," Benson began, his voice cracking almost immediately. "He was... he was the heart of this park. Even when he was slacking off, even when he was driving me crazy with some ridiculous magical artifact he’d accidentally unleashed... he was a good man. He was a friend. He had a future that was cut far too short. The park will be quieter now, and much, much emptier."

One by one, they spoke. Skips talked about Mordecai’s hidden wisdom. Muscle Man tried to make a joke to hide his tears but ended up just sobbing into Hi-Five Ghost’s shoulder.

Then, a flurry of red feathers moved toward the front. Margaret took the stage. She looked beautiful in her black dress, but her expression was one of profound regret. She looked down at the casket, then out at the crowd.

"I spent a long time trying to figure out what to say today," Margaret said, her voice trembling. "Mordecai was the kind of guy who would jump into a volcano for his friends. He was the kind of guy who would wait forever for a girl to notice him, even when he should have just moved on."

She took a shaky breath, a tear finally spilling over and tracking through her feathers.

"The truth is... I always thought we’d have more time. I thought there would be a 'later' for us. And I need to say this, even if it’s too late. I loved him. I had a crush on him from the moment he walked into the coffee shop, and I never stopped. I’m so sorry, Mordecai. I’m so sorry I didn't say it when you could hear me."

A collective sigh of heartbreak moved through the crowd. Rigby, sitting in the front row, let out a fresh burst of tears.

When the speeches concluded, the pallbearers—Skips, Muscle Man, Benson, Hi-Five Ghost, Thomas, and a devastated Rigby—stepped forward. They lifted the casket with a synchronized grunt of effort, the weight of their friend heavy in their hands.

The walk was slow. They didn't head toward a cemetery outside the gates. They headed toward the hill overlooking the lake—the spot where Mordecai and Rigby had spent countless hours watching the sunset, talking about everything and nothing.

The grass crunched under their feet. The only sounds were the distant chirping of birds and the soft rustle of the wind through the oak trees. They reached the crest of the hill where a grave had been prepared beneath the shade of a massive, ancient elm.

As they lowered the casket into the earth, Rigby stepped forward. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn, yellowed video game controller—the one Mordecai always used when they played "Strong Johns."

"You better practice, man," Rigby whispered, his voice thick with grief as he tossed the controller onto the lid of the casket. "Because when I get there, I’m finally gonna beat you."

The first shovelful of dirt hit the wood with a hollow thud that echoed in everyone’s chest. One by one, the mourners departed, leaving the park workers alone on the hill.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant streaks of orange, purple, and blue, the group stood in a line. It was the kind of sunset Mordecai would have tried to photograph, only to realize that a camera could never capture the real thing.

"He would have liked this," Skips said quietly, resting a hand on Rigby’s shoulder.

"Yeah," Rigby wiped his eyes with his forearm. "He would have."

They stood there for a long time, watching the light fade, until the stars began to peek through the velvet blue of the evening. The park was still there, the trees were still standing, and the grass would continue to grow. But as they turned to walk back toward the house, they all knew that the world was a little less bright without the tall, awkward bird who had called this place home.