RedViper
September 25th, 2012, 07:51 AM
When I started this I had no idea where I was going with it, I just wanted to do something with a mortician. It's not finished yet and still needs some editing. Any criticism is welcome, don't hold back, you won't offend me.
The Mortician
Cyrus pulled up outside the funeral home. He grabbed the umbrella resting on the passenger seat and opened it in front of him. He lowered it and fumbled with his many keys trying to find the right one. Once inside he put the umbrella into the umbrella stand, aware that it would probably be filled with a few millimetres of water by the time he left. He walked through the hall way past the rooms where the viewings took place towards the embalming room. He opened the door and saw his intern Devon sitting at the desk filling out some paperwork. Devon was in his late twenties and of a slim build. At first Cyrus was reluctant to take on an intern, but he was glad he had as he’d grown rather fond of him. He’s been at Cyrus’ practice for almost a full three year internship.
“Devon, what are you still doing here?”
“Oh, Mr Crowe, I just thought I’d stay and help out.”
“Nonsense boy, I’ve been doing this since before you were born, I think I can manage on my own. It’s late, go home and get some sleep.”
“At least let me finish the first part of the embalming report.”
“It’s okay; I’ll finish it. Now go home.”
Devon nodded and collected his things. He took his coat from the hook on the wall and Cyrus replaced it with his own.
“I’ll see you tomorrow Mr Crowe,” Devon said as he headed towards the door.
Acknowledging the statement with a wave Cyrus sat at his desk. The thing that surprised him the most about Devon was how much he enjoyed his company. They had gone to the pub down the street a few times after work. They always sat in the same seats by the bar and ordered the same drinks; scotch, no ice, for Cyrus and beer for Devon. While he was considerably younger he considered Devon a good friend. He looked at a framed photograph on his desk. It was of his wife and two daughters. They were smiling and all dressed up for his eldest daughter, Alice’s, engagement party. He gave a sombre smile and closed his eyes. He sighed and looked at the body bag on the embalming table and then to the embalming report. Devon had filled in the deceased’s name and personal details. Her name was Adrienne and she was only nineteen. It always saddened him to work on such young people who had so much more living to do. Her cause of death was internal bleeding caused by a two car motor vehicle accident. He filled in his name and mortician’s licence number and then went to go wash his hands and put on his protective clothing.
Cyrus looked in the mirror above the sink in the mortuary washroom, the lines on his face cut deeper than he remembered. He had never really thought of himself as old, but he’d never taken much notice of his appearance either. He was not as young as he once was, but it was like he was realising it for the first time. He put on his gown and latex gloves after fixing his scrub cap to his head. He tied his mask around his neck, but left it hanging down. He unzipped the body bag and parted it around the young girl. He went to remove it out from under her, but hesitated when he saw the plat in her fringe. He let it rest in his hand and his mind wandered.
Cyrus removed the body bag out from under her. She had long blonde hair, pink painted finger nails and a stud in her nose. He remembered the time when his youngest daughter, Tori, nagged her mother for a piercing when she was sixteen. He removed her jewellery: two silver rings, a gold chain pendant, a pair of earrings and the stud from her nose, placing them in a clear plastic bag. He filled out the appropriate parts of the label on the bag and the embalming report. He cut away her clothes and repeated the same process. He looked at the clock: one thirty seven am. After writing the starting time and date he turned back to the girl to continue the embalming process. He pulled his mask over his mouth and nose then used a strong disinfectant to clean her skin, eyes, mouth and other orifices. As he was scrubbing her skin the sleeve of his gown came out from under the cuff of his glove, revealing his sun-spot riddled skin. Even his forearms were wrinkled. Cyrus wasn’t sure as to how he could have been so ignorant of his own appearance. Was he really that old? He’d never even travelled or had a chance to see the world. He tucked the sleeve back under his glove and continued to scrub.
Thirteen years ago Cyrus’ wife, Elizabeth, and two daughters, Alice and Victoria, were going shopping for Alice’s wedding dress. It had seemed like only a few years ago that Cyrus was teaching her to walk and talk. Now she was 27 and getting married. She had no more need for her father. Elizabeth sat in the driver’s side of their small dark blue sedan. Cyrus stood by the open door as they waited for Victoria to finish getting ready and come to the car.
“Hurry up Tori, all they’ll leave without you.” Cyrus shouted as he shut the car door.
“You know that won’t make any difference, Cyrus.” said Elizabeth after winding the window down.
“I know, she takes after her mother that way.”
“Yes, and she’s inherited your impatience,” joked Alice, “At this rate I’ll probably only just get my dress before the wedding.”
Tori came out the front door and slowly walked to the car, playing with the plat in her fringe. She slowed even more when she saw her sister watching her from the car. She giggled and ran towards the car and sat in the seat behind Alice.
“Good luck, honey.” said Cyrus.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Good bye, dear.” He said to Elizabeth while leaning in the window to kiss her on the cheek.
“Goodbye” she replied.
Two hours later, the phone in the kitchen started ringing. It was an old fashioned phone; Elizabeth had bought it after their fourteenth wedding anniversary.
“Good afternoon.” Said Cyrus after picking up the phone.
“Hello, have I got a Mr Cyrus Crowe?”
“You do, how can I help you?”
“There’s been an accident.”
Avoiding his reflection in the mirror, Cyrus washed his hands again and put on another pair of gloves. He took a small plastic bag from a shelf and placed it on the table next to his embalming equipment. He took a small blade and cut open the bag removing the two eye caps from within it. He placed a small amount of crème on the underside of each cap and placed them on her eyes, closing them when he was done. He threaded a piece of suture through the eye of a curved needle. He re-adjusted the cuff of his glove making sure that it was firmly around the sleeve of his gown. He inserted the needle under the gums of her lower jaw up through the top jaw into her right nostril, through her septum and back down through the jaw. He tied each end of the suture, like a bow on a macabre birthday gift. He went back into the washroom to change his gloves once again. After putting them on he hesitated to walk back past the mirror and then forced himself to look at it. His eyes exaggerated every line on his face. His hair was short, grey and receding far further than he had thought. He went to run his fingers through his thinning hair, then stopped realising he was wearing gloves and went back to the embalming table.
The Mortician
Cyrus pulled up outside the funeral home. He grabbed the umbrella resting on the passenger seat and opened it in front of him. He lowered it and fumbled with his many keys trying to find the right one. Once inside he put the umbrella into the umbrella stand, aware that it would probably be filled with a few millimetres of water by the time he left. He walked through the hall way past the rooms where the viewings took place towards the embalming room. He opened the door and saw his intern Devon sitting at the desk filling out some paperwork. Devon was in his late twenties and of a slim build. At first Cyrus was reluctant to take on an intern, but he was glad he had as he’d grown rather fond of him. He’s been at Cyrus’ practice for almost a full three year internship.
“Devon, what are you still doing here?”
“Oh, Mr Crowe, I just thought I’d stay and help out.”
“Nonsense boy, I’ve been doing this since before you were born, I think I can manage on my own. It’s late, go home and get some sleep.”
“At least let me finish the first part of the embalming report.”
“It’s okay; I’ll finish it. Now go home.”
Devon nodded and collected his things. He took his coat from the hook on the wall and Cyrus replaced it with his own.
“I’ll see you tomorrow Mr Crowe,” Devon said as he headed towards the door.
Acknowledging the statement with a wave Cyrus sat at his desk. The thing that surprised him the most about Devon was how much he enjoyed his company. They had gone to the pub down the street a few times after work. They always sat in the same seats by the bar and ordered the same drinks; scotch, no ice, for Cyrus and beer for Devon. While he was considerably younger he considered Devon a good friend. He looked at a framed photograph on his desk. It was of his wife and two daughters. They were smiling and all dressed up for his eldest daughter, Alice’s, engagement party. He gave a sombre smile and closed his eyes. He sighed and looked at the body bag on the embalming table and then to the embalming report. Devon had filled in the deceased’s name and personal details. Her name was Adrienne and she was only nineteen. It always saddened him to work on such young people who had so much more living to do. Her cause of death was internal bleeding caused by a two car motor vehicle accident. He filled in his name and mortician’s licence number and then went to go wash his hands and put on his protective clothing.
Cyrus looked in the mirror above the sink in the mortuary washroom, the lines on his face cut deeper than he remembered. He had never really thought of himself as old, but he’d never taken much notice of his appearance either. He was not as young as he once was, but it was like he was realising it for the first time. He put on his gown and latex gloves after fixing his scrub cap to his head. He tied his mask around his neck, but left it hanging down. He unzipped the body bag and parted it around the young girl. He went to remove it out from under her, but hesitated when he saw the plat in her fringe. He let it rest in his hand and his mind wandered.
Cyrus removed the body bag out from under her. She had long blonde hair, pink painted finger nails and a stud in her nose. He remembered the time when his youngest daughter, Tori, nagged her mother for a piercing when she was sixteen. He removed her jewellery: two silver rings, a gold chain pendant, a pair of earrings and the stud from her nose, placing them in a clear plastic bag. He filled out the appropriate parts of the label on the bag and the embalming report. He cut away her clothes and repeated the same process. He looked at the clock: one thirty seven am. After writing the starting time and date he turned back to the girl to continue the embalming process. He pulled his mask over his mouth and nose then used a strong disinfectant to clean her skin, eyes, mouth and other orifices. As he was scrubbing her skin the sleeve of his gown came out from under the cuff of his glove, revealing his sun-spot riddled skin. Even his forearms were wrinkled. Cyrus wasn’t sure as to how he could have been so ignorant of his own appearance. Was he really that old? He’d never even travelled or had a chance to see the world. He tucked the sleeve back under his glove and continued to scrub.
Thirteen years ago Cyrus’ wife, Elizabeth, and two daughters, Alice and Victoria, were going shopping for Alice’s wedding dress. It had seemed like only a few years ago that Cyrus was teaching her to walk and talk. Now she was 27 and getting married. She had no more need for her father. Elizabeth sat in the driver’s side of their small dark blue sedan. Cyrus stood by the open door as they waited for Victoria to finish getting ready and come to the car.
“Hurry up Tori, all they’ll leave without you.” Cyrus shouted as he shut the car door.
“You know that won’t make any difference, Cyrus.” said Elizabeth after winding the window down.
“I know, she takes after her mother that way.”
“Yes, and she’s inherited your impatience,” joked Alice, “At this rate I’ll probably only just get my dress before the wedding.”
Tori came out the front door and slowly walked to the car, playing with the plat in her fringe. She slowed even more when she saw her sister watching her from the car. She giggled and ran towards the car and sat in the seat behind Alice.
“Good luck, honey.” said Cyrus.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Good bye, dear.” He said to Elizabeth while leaning in the window to kiss her on the cheek.
“Goodbye” she replied.
Two hours later, the phone in the kitchen started ringing. It was an old fashioned phone; Elizabeth had bought it after their fourteenth wedding anniversary.
“Good afternoon.” Said Cyrus after picking up the phone.
“Hello, have I got a Mr Cyrus Crowe?”
“You do, how can I help you?”
“There’s been an accident.”
Avoiding his reflection in the mirror, Cyrus washed his hands again and put on another pair of gloves. He took a small plastic bag from a shelf and placed it on the table next to his embalming equipment. He took a small blade and cut open the bag removing the two eye caps from within it. He placed a small amount of crème on the underside of each cap and placed them on her eyes, closing them when he was done. He threaded a piece of suture through the eye of a curved needle. He re-adjusted the cuff of his glove making sure that it was firmly around the sleeve of his gown. He inserted the needle under the gums of her lower jaw up through the top jaw into her right nostril, through her septum and back down through the jaw. He tied each end of the suture, like a bow on a macabre birthday gift. He went back into the washroom to change his gloves once again. After putting them on he hesitated to walk back past the mirror and then forced himself to look at it. His eyes exaggerated every line on his face. His hair was short, grey and receding far further than he had thought. He went to run his fingers through his thinning hair, then stopped realising he was wearing gloves and went back to the embalming table.