5 - the mourge

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The night before, I set my alarm for 3:45. No one needs to see this. I woke up, got ready in my best "don't notice me" outfit, and grabbed the gasoline and box of matches. I set out in the car. When I finally got to the mortuary, I doused every exit, every bush, every window with gasoline. I moved swiftly away, pouring the gas in a little trail behind me. I lit the match and threw it down, ducking behind the one car in the parking lot, a '67 red Ford pickup. I can't tell you exactly what was going through my brain the first time I saw this truck before I poured anything, because I honestly don't know. But I can tell you what went through my mind as I ducked behind it, somebody's truck is here, I just inadvertently killed someone when I just meant to burn the bodies. In my defense, how in the world was I even supposed to know someone was going to be working at 4:07 AM on a Sunday? Who works on a Sunday?

What's done is done. Then I had to flee from the scene. I went behind the Evergreen, the only tree that still looked full, and healthy in the middle of the dreary winter, I had so cleverly hidden my car behind. I knew that I had just severely messed up things for so many grieving families, burning the bodies so they could not have a proper burial. But then I had killed another, one who I could only assume was Dr. Porter Coffin Jr. For the rest of my Sunday, I just laid there, numb in my bed, letting the gravity of burning the morgue sink in. I cried, I was so truly sorry for all the pain that this was going to cause these grieving families. But I had to, I had to, I would have been sent to prison, and then I probably would have been shanked.

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