Perceived Insanity

Gideon

A couple mornings after killing the girl, Dr. Rhae hired one of the janitors to dispose of her body. He had walked into the room in which she had been killed feeling disgusted. He was still rather new to his job, and he got all the most unwanted jobs. His parents had not spent their money wisely, nor would they have been willing to aid him in paying for university classes, so he had very few options other than the position as a janitor at the Principles of Life center. He was working to support himself and his wife, who was pregnant with their first child. Not since he had left his parent's home had there been enough to eat, as most of his income went to renting a small apartment on the edge of the city. All his thoughts centered around how miserable his own situation was.

When he saw Nayona's body, he stopped short. He looked at her dirty face, her unkempt hair, her glassy eyes. She was slumped backwards, her head hanging over the back of the chair. Her arms were draped over the arms of the chair. He realized she was a real person, who had likely been experiencing similar kinds of stress not too long ago. She looked quite young, and he thought of the child he would soon have. He wondered who the girl's parents were. Perhaps, thought he, she was a homeless orphan who had been killed for her lack of contribution to society. But he could see her plastic Principles of Life card sticking out of a pocket in the dress she was wearing.

He walked over to her corpse and and lifted her, one arm supporting her back, the other her legs. Her head flopped back against his arm, and he shuddered. He wondered if he would be buried after dying, or if he too would be disposed of. It was a disconcerting topic to ponder. He placed her gently on the cart provided to him to aid in his disposal of the body, and pushed her eyes closed. Their blank gaze bothered him.

After covering her body with a heavy cloth, he began to push the cart through the numerous hallways. When he reached the back entrance of the building, he paused and pushed the cloth back enough to see her face. Then he continued. As awful as it was to be reminded of her reality, her humanity, he could not bear pushing her body around on the cart as if she were just another bag of garbage. He pushed the door open, and walked outside.

The wind blew away the oppressive stillness of the artificially illuminated hallways, and the janitor smiled. He would find a way to give the girl some kind of a burial, for he could not bear the thought of being thrown away himself without ceremony someday.

He walked toward the two large dumpsters sitting on the grass on the far end of the parking lot, happy the breeze was carrying away the worst of the smell. He checked the small sign nailed to the side of the larger dumpster, ensuring the garbage would be collected soon.

Instead, the janitor found the collection had just taken place. Grinning, he began pushing the cart through first the parking lot, then down the road. He used his handkerchief to wipe away some of the grime on the girl's face, whistling a dirge for her makeshift funeral.

After walking for a couple miles, he began to tire. The wind was refreshing, but he was pushing a heavy cart up a hill. He saw the garbage dump where he planned to bury Nayona up ahead, and for the first time in his life decided to make a sacrifice out of love for someone else. It was satisfying to do something good for someone else, and his satisfaction overpowered his dislike of physical labor. He could not possibly leave her in the garbage bin to rot. She had a family, none of whom had come to bury her, but he would.

He reached the garbage dump, and found the wind did not succeed in dissipating the stench at the dump as well as it had with the dumpsters. He wrinkled his nose and pushed open the gates. As he closed them again, they groaned forlornly. Once inside, he looked around for an open space in which to bury the girl. As he searched, he came by an old cardboard box. It caught his attention because someone had draped old, patched clothes over it, and a small antique sewing machine sat next to the box. It was the kind that operated manually, without the use of electricity. The janitor looked at it with surprise, as it indicated someone had been living there.

He wondered what their story was. He had no idea he had brought the girl back home. He thought about all the people whose struggles might be worse than his own. He felt sympathy for them. At the same time, he was very sure the girl who had occupied the cardboard box had been happy, even happier than he. He was quite sure the box belonged to a girl, as dresses and skirts covered most of the box. It was also apparent the box had remained unoccupied for quite some time, for the top had begun to cave in under the weight of both clothes and debris.

As he began to examine the sewing machine, however, a voice stopped him.

"What are you doing in my sister's home?" it asked, both angry and surprised.

The janitor jumped and turned toward the voice. The speaker had a face he recognized from a restaurant he visited often for lunch.

"William, that's your name, isn't it?" he asked. "I didn't know your sister lives here. I thought it was unoccupied, and was wondering what the story behind it is. Didn't mean to trespass."

William's features lost their anger, although the confusion they bore witness to seemed to grow.

"Yes, my name is William, and you're Gideon, one of the customers at the restaurant," he confirmed. "Lived, past tense. You don't need to worry. I think she would not have minded. But what business brings you here?"

At the mention of his business Gideon frowned.

"Government killed some girl, couldn't have been older than you. They gave her to me, as I'm their janitor, to throw in the trash, but I wanted to give her a real burial. Don't want anyone disposing of me when I get old. I'd want someone to care enough to do the same for me," he said, shaking his head.

William frowned.

"You buried her already, then?" he asked, looking towards the cart.

"No. But you don't want to see a dead girl, surely. What business brings you here?" Gideon said, returning the question.

"My sister was killed by the government a few days ago, and then my certificate was revoked, if it's so important to you," said William bitterly.

The janitor considered something for a moment.

"Maybe you would like to help me bury her, then. Might make you feel a bit better, like it made me feel better. Don't know why more people don't help each other out once in a while," he said.

"I think I would like to help, thank you. I have a shovel you can use, if you like, although the handle is broken," offered William. "And I agree with you. For that reason, among others, was my certificate revoked: I dared say other people were more important than myself; that love is a real, important concept."

The two young men ambled over to the cart, and Gideon stood so he blocked William's view of the girl's head.

"She's dead, you know," Gideon reminded him. Then he stepped away from the body and pulled the cloth away from it.