Mortimer Daly woke up, got out of bed, did his daily exercises, and went to talk to his sister.

"Hey, sis. What's up? Remember what day today is?"

Leah, his sister, woke up, slowly, slipping from the bliss of sleep to the horror of an early morning hangover. "Uh... I thought I had sworn never to drink again... Except, except, I should be dead today!" Then she threw up and fell asleep again.

Mort, (that was what all of his friends called him), was a smart boy. In fact, he was extremely smart and very personable. He had faults of course, (his mother always said he was much too interested in death for his own good) such as he wasn't very outgoing, he was very self righteous, and had, as his shrink called, "greater than thou syndrome." His crowning problem was forgetfulness. So, naturally, he had been very proud to have remembered that his sister's birthday was that day. However, he had forgotten the enormous fireball that had been sighted from New Kyoto III, that was supposed to crash into the sun 7 days earlier, and the force of the explosion to utterly destroy the world.

So Mortimer Daly just sat there, glad to be alive. Wow. I don't feel dead. Or Deceased. Inspired by this new revelation, he went immediately to call all of his friends, and make sure that they were alive, too. Getting a wafer, he noticed that he hadn't seen either of his parents, notoriously early risers. He called, "Mom, dad, we're not dead!" He thought about that particular comment for a few seconds, and decided that it was stupid, and that he probably shouldn't tell this new revelation of his to his friends. He was brought back to reality with a jolt, from his mother's scathing retort. It didn't come.

"Mom? Mom?" Mort called, his voice gradually growing higher, and louder, with his urgency, "MOM? DAD? Where are you!."

Mort was answered with only silence, until a voice sounding remarkably like what Harry Joppins his pet weasel's voice sounded like in Mort's dreams, rang through the air, crudely ripping the silence apart. "Mom, dad, where are you?", the voice mockingly screeched, its high pitched tones resounding with discord. Mort went towards the sound, in the direction where he... felt, something, something of the like he had never felt before. It was like a pulse, pulsing in rhythm to earth's equilibrium. He also felt it in the direction of his sister's room. Mort could almost taste it, glorious in its peace, beautifully sweet. As he headed in the direction of his parent's room, from whence the first pulse came, it grew stronger, and the one in his sister's room receded. He opened the door, and found his parents, still lying in bed, apparently sound asleep. He moved closer to their prostrate bodies, and noticed that they were exceedingly pale. Touching them, he found them cold to the touch, and exactly like the corpses he had seen from attending the public funerals. He thought at first that they might just have a disease, so he went to their pressure points, looking for a pulse. And he felt the other one, the one that kept on going, and going. It was under the bed, by the pile of clothes. He looked under and saw Harry, quietly but maliciously sitting on his hind legs, his throat and head curiously enlarged.

Mort was about to look up again, when Harry said, "They've been dead for three hours. They didn't thrash a lot when they died. It was roughly the time when I received this superior brain and vocal chords."

"You bastard! You killed, them, didn't you!" Mort accused, his face streaking tears, finally accepting what had happened.

"No, I didn't kill them, but their death is insignificant compared to my happiness! I have a two lobed brain, and I can pronounce human words! What else could I want?" The weasel blissfully replied.

"B-b- burn in hell, weasel! May your soul be thrice damned to the seventh hell of Dante!" Mort had made up curses when he was 11, four years ago, when his sister was 15, and she had been using boring and uninteresting curse.

The weasel's last words were, "My soul! My beautiful, beautiful soul!" And Mort felt his pulse no more.

Mort started screaming, and didn't stop until he fainted, and was found by his barely sober sister, who threw up when she realized that her parents were dead. He was quietly weeping in his sleep, and dreaming dark dreams of death and destruction.