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The man awakens in his cot. He dreamed about her again. He flips the light switch, illuminating the naked bulb that hangs in his room before walking over to the mirror that stands above his sink.
He washes his face and body over the sink. He owns no shower.
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Walking out of that room, he enters his workspace. Shelves of chemicals and equipment hugging the walls. He sees the person he finished with lying on the embalming table in the centre of the room. They are naked and pale. Someone should come to pick them up this afternoon.
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The man echoes in his mind that same reminder he's come to hold onto.
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These are people. Ignore that.
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He left the building with his wheelbarrow and made his way to where he heard the bombings coming from last night. His work is easy to find.
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At the sight of the crumbled buildings he finds scattered groups of people near the rubble. Large masses of people surrounding exhumed corpses like maggots to decaying food. They congregate not in the search of sustenance but in mourning. Some of them look at him with a certain disdain in their eyes as he loads the bodies on top of each other upon his wheelbarrow. Three adults. One child in the middle.
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He brings them back to his home and workplace. Removing their tattered clothes and getting to work on the process.
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He slices into one of the corpses neck. Severing his artery and allowing the blood to trickle out and pool into the drain of the embalming table. He attaches the tubes and turns on the machine that sucks out what is left of the mans blood. His already pale skin growing more lifeless.
He pumps his body full of preserving fluid and puts him into cold storage. Then he moves onto the next.
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Near the end of the day he lays out the last victim. A woman. That made only evident by her reproductive organs. Her face is split in half vertically between the eyes. Revealing the brains and fragmented skull beneath. The man places his hands on either side of her head segments and pushes them together before letting his hold loose as he watches her head split apart again.
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Where do I even start? 22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4AvqWh2WAM
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He asks himself.
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He makes a crude job of stitching her head back together after the embalming and puts her in cold storage.
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The sun has long since set.
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He goes to bed. He has a lot of work to do in the morning.
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