Death's timer

Albert came back down one of the glass-lined alleys with two hourglasses, and set them down wordlessly on a ledge on one of the pillars.

One was several times the size of the ordinary glasses—black, thin and decorated with a complicated skull-and-bones motif.

That wasn’t the most unpleasant thing about it.

Mort groaned inwardly. He couldn’t see any sand in there.

The smaller glass beside it was quite plain and unadorned. Mort reached for it.

“May I?” he said.

BE MY GUEST.

The name Mort was engraved on the top bulb. He held it up to the light, noting without any real surprise that there was hardly any sand left. When he held it to his ear he thought he could hear, even above the ever-present roar of the millions of lifetimers around him, the sound of his own life pouring away.

***

Mort p196