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MORT--

Mama always said to reach for the stars.

"You could be a firefighter or a police officer. You could even become president if you wanted to."

Mama always took it upon herself to make an example list for me, Mort thought to himself, and for some reason all of the professions usually centered around making the world a better place; fighting fires, crimes, or the world in general.

"If you want to take it literally, become an astronaut."

Except for that one. Mort always liked that one.

"But don't expect anything to be easy. You're bound to get hurt along the way."

Even if Mort had dreams of flying to the moon and back, that last statement always kept him locked in his room. The thought of being hurt was scary to him; he would rather risk sacrificing a healthy social life than be rejected. If he could avoid even one person laughing at his abnormally large head, it would all be worth it. But still, his mother would try to encourage him, until she thought she was building up his hopes too much, and then she would bring out the 'you'll get hurt' statement. All her work would be for nothing.

"I'll make you a ham sandwich," she said, giving up on him once again and leaving the room.

Mort didn't mind staying in his room. Apart from the never-ending battle with boredom, he actually found it to be a rather sustainable lifestyle. Thanks to Mama, he was in constant supply of sandwiches, albeit the same, dry ham sandwiches, but it was fuel nonetheless. Sometimes he added ketchup for a little variety and a tangy boost of flavor.

Most of the time Mort would sleep to pass the time. Sometimes he would dream, sometimes he would close his eyes for what seemed like a minute but wake up an hour later.

Mama is making me a sandwich. I can afford to at least lay down.

Mort curled up on his bed and stared at the ceiling. The plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars that Mort's mother had helped him stick to the plaster above were now barely visable in the daylight. Their shallow shadows were the only signs of their presence, but it was enough for Mort to begin pondering of the wonders he would see if he followed his mother's advice.

"I brought you some ketchup again today, just how you like it."

"Thanks Mama," replied Mort as he took the plate from his mother's hands.

Mort never liked using ketchup bottles, he never did know how to get the stuff out. Supposedly you had to hit the bottle somewhere with the palm of your hand, but he didn't know where. His mom used to pour it out for him, but one day he found a fly in the red pile of gook and felt much safer if he did it himself. Since he couldn't work the bottle, Mama would bring him packets that she would take from fast food joints. Plus, Mort liked the feel of them between his fingers.

"I'll let you eat now," his mother said as she left the room again and closed the door.

Mort ripped open one of the packets and poured the red substance out onto the plate. He discarded the wrapper and picked up the next one. He studied the second ketchup packet in his hands. This one felt extra squishy. He put his palms on either side of the packet and carefully moved them around. The ketchup moved from end to the other, bulging the plastic as it went. A smile filled Mort's face.

*THUD* A faint noise in the distance perked Morts ears.

*THUD* The noise grew louder. Whatever was causing the noise was getting closer.

*THUD* Mort felt his bed wiggle a little bit

*THUD* Now the whole house shook.

*THUD* Mort's body bounced a foot off his bed. In his attempt to grab something sturdy, Mort only grasped his fist over the packet still in his hands, and ketchup spurted all over the wall behind his bed.

*THUD* Mort now flew so high he touched the ceiling. One of his fingers scraped across a plastic star. He fell back onto his comfortable bed and the aftershock launched him a couple of inches back into the air.

The noise stopped. The last couple of thuds had been almost deafening, and it sounded like whatever made them had perched itself just outside the house. A few seconds of silence went by, and for a brief moment Mort thought that maybe he HAD gone deaf.

Thankfully, he was proven wrong when he heard a violent scraping above his head. It was followed by a clamping noise that reminded him of the garbage truck that came by every week.

Soon the stars were falling down, along with entire chunks of the ceiling, as the intruder pryed open a hole into the room. Mort picked up the closest thing to him, which happened to be his pillow - white and fluffy with a red, felt heart that his mother had stitched on the front - and cowered underneath it.

The scraping stopped.

Mort looked up at the damage above him and rubbed his eyes to make sure he was seeing clearly. There, in the hole where a part of his ceiling had once been, hung a light. At least it looked like a light. As his eyes focused, Mort could make out a shape. A star shape.

A STAR SHAPE!?

Had a falling star just landed on his house? His mother's words echo'ed in his ears.

Reach for the stars, it said.

Mort reached up towards the light. Little did he know of the ketchup-hungry truth that lay hidden in the shadow above as it closed in on the boy.

His mother had been right.

He was bound to get hurt along the way.

---

"Mort, here's your sandwich."

Mama?

The words pulled Mort from his sleep. He could barely lift his large head from under his pillow as his mom entered the room. Outside, the garbage truck made its way to the next house

"I brought you some ketchup again today, just how you like it."

I think I'll switch to mustard.

--Mort: Written by Robbie, Inspired by the sculpture 'Reach the Stars' created and posted on DeviantArt by Fabreeze