RedViper
October 19th, 2012, 08:10 AM
It probably still needs a few minor changes, but this is it :)
The Mortician
Cyrus pulled up outside the funeral home.
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.
“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’d been at Cyrus’ practice for almost a full three year internship.
Cyrus 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 sighed and closed his eyes.
Cyrus 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. He went to 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. It was as though he’d never had the realisation, like when a child becomes ‘too old’ for stickers. Cyrus put on his gown and latex gloves after fixing his scrub cap to his head. He tied a mask around his neck, but left it hanging down. Unzipping the body bag he parted it around the young girl. He went to move it out from under her, but hesitated when he saw the plat in her fringe. Cyrus let it rest in his hand.
Cyrus removed the body bag out from under her. She had long blonde hair 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 leant over the body and 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, bagged them and repeated the same labelling process. He looked at the clock: one thirty seven am. After writing the starting time and date he turned back to the girl. He meticulously inspected her body for any cuts, bruises or discolouration. Cyrus noted the cut on her forehead and the bruising on her ribs in the embalming report. 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 flesh. 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 twenty four 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.
“Good afternoon,” said Cyrus after picking up the phone.
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 and went back to the embalming table.
Cyrus had prepared two large needles attached to the end of long plastic tubes and a mixture of formaldehyde and water for arterial embalming. He inserted one needle into the jugular vein to drain her blood, but kept the sliding plastic lock on the tube shut. He placed the end of the tube into a small opening on the floor by the embalming table which led directly to the sewers and slid the lock open. He inserted the other needle into her right carotid artery. He fixed the end of the tube to a two gallon bag of embalming fluid hanging at Cyrus’ eye level and slid the lock open. The liquids in the tubes flowed steadily. Veins bulged throughout her body, like balloons filling with water. After all the necessary fluids were drained he removed the needle from her jugular and sutured it shut and repeated the process with the needle in her carotid artery.
Cyrus looked at the girl’s face. A poet would have described her as a picture of youthful beauty. Her face was smooth and flawless, excluding the gash on her forehead.
Cyrus snapped out of his distraction and re-focused on the task at hand. He prepared the trocar and electric aspirator, connecting them with a long hose. He inserted the trocar near the girl’s belly button and pierced her stomach. He turned on the aspirator and sucked the fluids out of it. From the initial entry point Cyrus pierced every organ and sucked the fluids from within them, like a drought, slowly sucking the life from a river. After he finished he disconnected the hose from the aspirator and connected it directly to a bag of cavity fluid, (a slightly stronger mix of formaldehyde and water). Cyrus repeated the process with the trocar, but injecting fluids in rather than sucking them out, like the winter rains restoring life to the river once again. He sutured and sealed where he’d inserted the trocar. He then placed a small amount of gauze in her vagina and anus to prevent any seepage. Cyrus cleaned her skin again, washing away any chemicals or bodily fluids. After finishing he removed his gloves and went to the washroom.
Cyrus collected the cosmetic supplies from a shelf and placed them on a small wheeled table. He searched for mortuary putty of the right shade to match her skin tone. Once he found it he scooped a small amount out on one of his fingers and smeared it across the cut on her forehead, using the excess to cover the hole where her nose stud had been. After smoothing it out and making it look natural he left it to set. While he waited he wheeled the embalming table over to the sink. Taking out the plat, he pushed he hair back towards the sink and turned on the tap. He took the small shower head and rinsed her hair. Once wet, her hair laid flat against the sink, a silky quilt against the porcelain. After washing it, Cyrus gently dabbed a towel on her forehead, being careful not to touch the putty on her wound. After drying her hair he carefully brushed it, returning it to its previous state. While re-platting a small part of her fringe he remembered how Tori was always asking him to do it for her when she was little.
Cyrus applied a small amount of translucent makeup to her cheek and spread it as far as he could before scooping out a little more each time to cover her face. Her family hadn’t chosen an outfit for her to be buried in yet, so Cyrus had to keep her in cold storage for the night. He covered her with a medical sheet and tidied up. As he was about to collect his things he noticed her feet and ankles were uncovered. When he pulled the sheet down to cover them, his hand brushed along them. The touch of her cold flesh made him think of when he and his family went camping in their shack at least once every summer. Every day they would endure the heat while bushwalking or fishing and every night when the air cooled Cyrus would rub Elizabeth’s feet to warm them.
He hadn’t been back there since the girls had died. Now that he thought of it, he hadn’t been anywhere. All Cyrus really had anymore was his job. He thought it was time he started living his life again, but he couldn’t just leave the practice. There was no one to take over and Cyrus didn’t think he could bring himself to just pick up and leave. Devon was very competent, but he was still just completing his internship and still needed more time to gain confidence. Cyrus knew he wasn’t getting any younger, but he wanted to stop living such a sheltered life. He looked at the clock and sighed. He hesitantly went to the phone.
One year later.
Devon was putting on the finishing touches of the makeup on an elderly woman as Cyrus watched over him.
“You’ve come such a long way from the boy who first walked through those doors,” said Cyrus, “I thought I’d regret my decision to take on an intern at first, but you turned my opinion around. You were a fast, confident learner and you helped a bitter old man become a better person, I want to thank you for that. You are a true friend.”
“Thank you Mr Crowe.”
“I’m not your boss anymore, Devon. Call me Cyrus.”
“Okay.” Devon paused, “Cyrus.”
Cyrus held out his hand. Devon shook it firmly.
“You call if you need anything, alright?”
“I will.”
“I mean anything, you can call me anytime.”
“I know Mr C--,” Devon stopped himself, “Cyrus.”
“Goodbye, Devon.”
Cyrus stood in front of the shack. He looked round. He could still imagine Tori and Alice on the tyre swing that hung from a nearby tree. Cyrus walked over to the tree and gave the tyre a light push, as if one of the girls were still on it. It swayed slowly, bumping into him as it swung back. Walking back towards the shack Cyrus pulled a key out of his pocket. He unlocked the door and looked inside. Elizabeth’s rocking chair was still by the open fire place. She’d often rocked herself to sleep while reading a book or knitting in that chair. Cyrus walked to the doorway of the girls’ bedroom. The door frame was purple on the inside. When the girls were five and ten they’d found some paint in a cupboard and thought they’d try a bit of re-decorating. Cyrus ran his hand down the painted door frame and felt a small groove in the wood. He took a closer look and realised that the girls had carved their names into it. Cyrus smiled. He walked back out the front door, locking it behind him. As he was walking down the steps he stopped and looked through the window over his shoulder. He smiled again and kept walking.
Cyrus stood in line at the airport, waiting patiently to give his ticket to the attendant. The line shuffled forwards as another person went through the gate. A woman’s voice came over the P.A system.
“Final call, flight 146 to Paris is now boarding.”
Cyrus looked behind him, seeing a few stragglers joining the line. The line shuffled forwards again. He smiled at the attendant and handed her his ticket.
“Enjoy Paris, Sir,” she said with a smile.
“I will,” he replied, “thank you.”
After he boarded the plane Cyrus searched for his seat. Once he found it he sat down and put his backpack on his lap. He grabbed a notepad and pen from his backpack. He flipped the front page of the notepad over and began to write on the top line;
1. Climb the Eiffel Tower.
The Mortician
Cyrus pulled up outside the funeral home.
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.
“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’d been at Cyrus’ practice for almost a full three year internship.
Cyrus 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 sighed and closed his eyes.
Cyrus 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. He went to 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. It was as though he’d never had the realisation, like when a child becomes ‘too old’ for stickers. Cyrus put on his gown and latex gloves after fixing his scrub cap to his head. He tied a mask around his neck, but left it hanging down. Unzipping the body bag he parted it around the young girl. He went to move it out from under her, but hesitated when he saw the plat in her fringe. Cyrus let it rest in his hand.
Cyrus removed the body bag out from under her. She had long blonde hair 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 leant over the body and 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, bagged them and repeated the same labelling process. He looked at the clock: one thirty seven am. After writing the starting time and date he turned back to the girl. He meticulously inspected her body for any cuts, bruises or discolouration. Cyrus noted the cut on her forehead and the bruising on her ribs in the embalming report. 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 flesh. 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 twenty four 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.
“Good afternoon,” said Cyrus after picking up the phone.
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 and went back to the embalming table.
Cyrus had prepared two large needles attached to the end of long plastic tubes and a mixture of formaldehyde and water for arterial embalming. He inserted one needle into the jugular vein to drain her blood, but kept the sliding plastic lock on the tube shut. He placed the end of the tube into a small opening on the floor by the embalming table which led directly to the sewers and slid the lock open. He inserted the other needle into her right carotid artery. He fixed the end of the tube to a two gallon bag of embalming fluid hanging at Cyrus’ eye level and slid the lock open. The liquids in the tubes flowed steadily. Veins bulged throughout her body, like balloons filling with water. After all the necessary fluids were drained he removed the needle from her jugular and sutured it shut and repeated the process with the needle in her carotid artery.
Cyrus looked at the girl’s face. A poet would have described her as a picture of youthful beauty. Her face was smooth and flawless, excluding the gash on her forehead.
Cyrus snapped out of his distraction and re-focused on the task at hand. He prepared the trocar and electric aspirator, connecting them with a long hose. He inserted the trocar near the girl’s belly button and pierced her stomach. He turned on the aspirator and sucked the fluids out of it. From the initial entry point Cyrus pierced every organ and sucked the fluids from within them, like a drought, slowly sucking the life from a river. After he finished he disconnected the hose from the aspirator and connected it directly to a bag of cavity fluid, (a slightly stronger mix of formaldehyde and water). Cyrus repeated the process with the trocar, but injecting fluids in rather than sucking them out, like the winter rains restoring life to the river once again. He sutured and sealed where he’d inserted the trocar. He then placed a small amount of gauze in her vagina and anus to prevent any seepage. Cyrus cleaned her skin again, washing away any chemicals or bodily fluids. After finishing he removed his gloves and went to the washroom.
Cyrus collected the cosmetic supplies from a shelf and placed them on a small wheeled table. He searched for mortuary putty of the right shade to match her skin tone. Once he found it he scooped a small amount out on one of his fingers and smeared it across the cut on her forehead, using the excess to cover the hole where her nose stud had been. After smoothing it out and making it look natural he left it to set. While he waited he wheeled the embalming table over to the sink. Taking out the plat, he pushed he hair back towards the sink and turned on the tap. He took the small shower head and rinsed her hair. Once wet, her hair laid flat against the sink, a silky quilt against the porcelain. After washing it, Cyrus gently dabbed a towel on her forehead, being careful not to touch the putty on her wound. After drying her hair he carefully brushed it, returning it to its previous state. While re-platting a small part of her fringe he remembered how Tori was always asking him to do it for her when she was little.
Cyrus applied a small amount of translucent makeup to her cheek and spread it as far as he could before scooping out a little more each time to cover her face. Her family hadn’t chosen an outfit for her to be buried in yet, so Cyrus had to keep her in cold storage for the night. He covered her with a medical sheet and tidied up. As he was about to collect his things he noticed her feet and ankles were uncovered. When he pulled the sheet down to cover them, his hand brushed along them. The touch of her cold flesh made him think of when he and his family went camping in their shack at least once every summer. Every day they would endure the heat while bushwalking or fishing and every night when the air cooled Cyrus would rub Elizabeth’s feet to warm them.
He hadn’t been back there since the girls had died. Now that he thought of it, he hadn’t been anywhere. All Cyrus really had anymore was his job. He thought it was time he started living his life again, but he couldn’t just leave the practice. There was no one to take over and Cyrus didn’t think he could bring himself to just pick up and leave. Devon was very competent, but he was still just completing his internship and still needed more time to gain confidence. Cyrus knew he wasn’t getting any younger, but he wanted to stop living such a sheltered life. He looked at the clock and sighed. He hesitantly went to the phone.
One year later.
Devon was putting on the finishing touches of the makeup on an elderly woman as Cyrus watched over him.
“You’ve come such a long way from the boy who first walked through those doors,” said Cyrus, “I thought I’d regret my decision to take on an intern at first, but you turned my opinion around. You were a fast, confident learner and you helped a bitter old man become a better person, I want to thank you for that. You are a true friend.”
“Thank you Mr Crowe.”
“I’m not your boss anymore, Devon. Call me Cyrus.”
“Okay.” Devon paused, “Cyrus.”
Cyrus held out his hand. Devon shook it firmly.
“You call if you need anything, alright?”
“I will.”
“I mean anything, you can call me anytime.”
“I know Mr C--,” Devon stopped himself, “Cyrus.”
“Goodbye, Devon.”
Cyrus stood in front of the shack. He looked round. He could still imagine Tori and Alice on the tyre swing that hung from a nearby tree. Cyrus walked over to the tree and gave the tyre a light push, as if one of the girls were still on it. It swayed slowly, bumping into him as it swung back. Walking back towards the shack Cyrus pulled a key out of his pocket. He unlocked the door and looked inside. Elizabeth’s rocking chair was still by the open fire place. She’d often rocked herself to sleep while reading a book or knitting in that chair. Cyrus walked to the doorway of the girls’ bedroom. The door frame was purple on the inside. When the girls were five and ten they’d found some paint in a cupboard and thought they’d try a bit of re-decorating. Cyrus ran his hand down the painted door frame and felt a small groove in the wood. He took a closer look and realised that the girls had carved their names into it. Cyrus smiled. He walked back out the front door, locking it behind him. As he was walking down the steps he stopped and looked through the window over his shoulder. He smiled again and kept walking.
Cyrus stood in line at the airport, waiting patiently to give his ticket to the attendant. The line shuffled forwards as another person went through the gate. A woman’s voice came over the P.A system.
“Final call, flight 146 to Paris is now boarding.”
Cyrus looked behind him, seeing a few stragglers joining the line. The line shuffled forwards again. He smiled at the attendant and handed her his ticket.
“Enjoy Paris, Sir,” she said with a smile.
“I will,” he replied, “thank you.”
After he boarded the plane Cyrus searched for his seat. Once he found it he sat down and put his backpack on his lap. He grabbed a notepad and pen from his backpack. He flipped the front page of the notepad over and began to write on the top line;
1. Climb the Eiffel Tower.