prettiest girl in the morgue

Meeting

The morgue was always quiet at night. There wasn't much difference between day and night down here. Time slipped away here, stretched thin under the flicker of the cold, yellow fluorescent lights that buzzed incessantly, like the hum of a dying wasp trapped in a window. It gnawed at the back of my skull like a hangover that wouldn't quit. The place had a stillness, a silence that was waiting for something to happen, something that should make you feel guilty for expecting it.

The lights flickered like they were unsure to stay on. This place was all routine for me. Bodies came in, were dressed up, sent out, repeat. Death wasn't significant here in any way shape or form. It was mundane. I liked the night shift. It kept me away from people. No distractions. No one watching over my shoulder, asking questions I didn't want to answer. Just the dead. They never asked for anything.

That's what I told myself, anyway.

I was supposed to finish up with the last body of the day and clock out. Go home, drink, and collapse, something was keeping me from doing that, something was different. It was the bag on the table.

I didn't think much about the faces anymore. Maybe, when I was younger, I wondered who these people had been. What kind of life they lived before they ended up on my table. But those thoughts died out pretty fast. Now they were just another husk to go through the motions with.

Until her.

Another corpse, zipped up in black vinyl, begging to be processed. There wasn't anything different about it. We'd gotten a couple bodies that day. Accidents, suicides, disease, the usual. But I couldn't take my eyes off it. I stood there, just staring at it, hands wedged in place as I reached for the zipper. My fingers ghosted over the metal, and I felt a strange, tingling sensation crawl up my spine. There was no reason for it. This was just another body. Another job to finish. But my chest felt tight, like something heavy was pressing down on it, squeezing my ribs together. Bloodied knuckles went pale as my grip on the zipper intensified.

I swallowed hard and yanked it down.

The sound echoed through the room, unnaturally loud in the silence. I wasn't thinking about anything when I started the job. Just static. That dull ringing of routine pounding away in my head. That was until I saw her.

The zipper rasped open, and her face..god, her face, stopped the world cold. For a second, I felt serenity throughout, followed by a stillness. It was the kind of stillness that creeps in when the world has just shifted under your feet and you haven't caught up just yet.

I don't know how to explain it. She wasn't the prettiest woman I'd ever seen, and God knows she wasn't in the best condition, and neither was I. But there was something about her. Matted hair that fell in odd angles over her neck and cheeks. her skin was pale,too pale. But still, there was a softness to it. Almost like she hadn't fully passed on. Like she was in between. Frozen in time.

I leaned closer, studying her face. There was a bruise along her jawline, a patch of discolored skin near her temple, but that didn't matter. Her lips, god.. her lips, were a light shade of blue, but not yet cracked,like death had not claimed her yet. They were still...perfect.

I couldn't look away.

Her eyes were shut, but there was something in the stillness of her face that drew me in. It felt like she was waiting for something. Like if I waited for long enough, she might speak. Unable to stop myself, I brushed a lock of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. As expected,Her skin was cold, but the texture was like nothing I've ever felt. Softer. Smoother. Like she wasn't completely gone yet.

I was close enough now to feel the slight chill radiating from her body. My breath hitched, and for a second, it felt like the room had gotten colder.

Her lips twitched.

I jumped back, my chest tightened, pulse drumming against my ribcage, a sick feeling settling in my stomach. I blinked hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. I couldn't have seen that. It wasn't possible.

But when I looked again, her face was still. Her lips hadn't moved. It was just my imagination. It had to be. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog that had crept in. It was late. I was tired. I was seeing things that weren't there. This was just another body.

Another job.

The air in the room felt thick. Stale. Like the place was holding its breath, waiting. Waiting for what? I didn't know. I should've zipped the bag back up. I should've finished the job, gone home, and poured whiskey over ice until I forgot what the hell just happened.

But as I started to turn away, I heard it.

A whisper. So soft it was almost imperceptible, but there, just beneath the surface of the silence.

"Dorian.."

I froze. My skin prickled, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. I whipped my head around, staring at her lifeless form. She didn't move.

I stepped back, my hands shaking. No. I was imagining it. There was no way she could've said my name.

The door creaked open, and my father's shadow fell across the floor.

"Dorian. What the hell are you doing?!"

His voice was sharp, cutting through the stillness. I didn't answer. I couldn't. He frowned, "Get back to work. And stop messing around." He didn't even look at me, his eyes instead scanning the rest of the room, dismissing me.

I nodded, but my feet felt glued to the floor.

The weight of his presence lingered.

I exhaled slowly, finally moving away from the table, trying to shake the unease that clung to me. As I reached the door, I glanced back over my shoulder one last time. Her face was exactly as it had been. Unmoving. Lifeless. But I couldn't shake the feeling that she was watching me.