My name is Morta. I know, it sounds like death, that’s because well I am. Not dead. No. I am very much alive, but you see my dad is Death. Yeah, Death with a capital D. The Greeks called him Hades. The Romans called him Pluto. I call him Dad. Mom calls him an asshole, but only every once in a while. Usually when he does something stupid to piss her off. But she hasn’t called him a bastard since the Great Frost. At least that’s what my parents call it. A long time ago, before I was born, Dad sort of kidnapped Mom. He thought he was being romantic by surprising her with a weekend getaway, and Mom didn’t find it nearly as romantic. Then Grandma started what you humans call Winter. Technically she started all of the seasons, but Winter is the important one in that story, because crops don’t grow, and Grandma is all about crops.
We, Mom and I, go to see Grandma every year for a handful of months for what you call Spring and Summer. But now that I am old enough to learn the “Trade,” I have to stay in the human world during the rest of the year for high school. God, can you imagine? Me, going to high school? It’s ridiculous by the most lenient of standards.
Yeah, so I have to learn how to ferry souls over from the human world to the Underworld, my home, because Dad wants to retire eventually, and I have to join the family business. There’s just no choice for me in any of this. Grandma is thrilled. Not about me needing to learn about ferrying souls, but that I get to go live with her in California. Yeah, the goddess Demeter lives in California. It is where tons of agriculture exists for the United States. She just blends in with her surroundings better that way.
High school, here I come. I wonder if my pink robes will be acceptable clothing or not. They’re the bane of Dad’s existence. He tries to insist that the future Goddess of the Underworld can’t wear pink, but I think he just needs to enjoy a little more color in his life. He wouldn’t be such a downer if he expanded his color palette beyond grey, black, and blacker. Regardless, I’ll have to consult with Grandma about what mortals wear. I think I might also have to switch from journaling to blogging. Apparently mortals keeps blogs. That’s what the internet tells me. Which is just another fascinating invention. I wonder if I can get my cousin, Aria, daughter of Aphrodite, to send e-mails while I have to be in the human world. Maybe Mom can talk to her sister (though they’re not close) about letting Aria come for a visit. Though it is kind of scandalous that we send messages through Hermes. You see we sort of have the same grandfather, but different grandmothers.
I know, scandalous. Grandad was kind of a slut in his day. Still is, if you ask me, but don’t tell Mom I said that. Now you have my basic family tree, or at least enough to get you started. And don’t get me started on how weird it is that Dad and Grandad are brothers. Mom tries to explain that they’re not really brothers, because the gods don’t have DNA, so therefore can’t commit incest. It’s all “different” for the gods. I would call bullshit, but then they are my parents. Well, I have to go pack. Maybe the next time I do an entry, I’ll be in the human world. You never know.