Tried to experiment with rhythm in this one. Don’t know how well it worked.
I avoided looking at the people around me. It was safer that way. Animals interpret eye contact as a threat. I kept my eyes low. The bus shook as it went over a bump. The springs were worn out and would have to be replaced soon. I read the safety information, printed in red. The morning was colourless, cold. Someone coughed, a ragged wet sound. Disease spread easily on public transport. I counted twenty-two people. Their faces were hidden behind scarves. A newspaper rustled. One flipped the pages of a book. I willed the time on.
I approached the entrance to my building. It blended into the sky, ashen and bare. I didn’t know when it had been built. I got the sense that it had always been there. Shuttered and locked windows lined the outside walls. Yellowing posters slowly peeled away from the glass. A lot of businesses had inhabited the building over the years. Some survived, but most didn’t. They left suddenly, leaving empty offices. Some vanished in such a hurry they left furniture behind, standing unused and frozen in time. Others stripped the copper wiring from the walls, leaving ragged scars in the plaster. No one said anything about it. It was forty-two steps from the front entrance to the stairwell.
I hoped the receptionist wouldn’t notice. She would try to talk to me. She would ask questions about my day, smiling at me with bright red lipstick. I would get nervous, and mix my answers up. I would say that I had to leave, that I had work to do, but she would continue to talk until I felt sick. She knew that it made me uncomfortable. I would hear her laughing softly to herself as she tapped on her keyboard. I moved quickly, my head down. My shoes squeaked on the linoleum. She looked up from her desk. The fluorescent lighting flickered and I saw the red lips smile at me.
I hurried down to the basement. Sweat beaded on my forehead. There were three flights to descend. I took the stairs two at a time, sometimes three. My identification card bounced on my pocket. When I reached the basement, the security guard lifted a finger in greeting. He opened the door and sat back on his stool. We never speak. I couldn’t even picture his face. Getting through that door was all that mattered to me. As the door swung open, the metal freezers hummed in greeting. Relief poured over me.
It was time to begin. I clenched the chart in my hands. The first of the day. The deceased’s information was neatly typed in black on a white page. She was thirty years old, of average height and weight. No children. A massive cerebral haemorrhage had killed her instantly. She probably didn’t even feel it, just blinked out of consciousness like turning off a switch. But none of this concerned me. It didn’t matter who she was, or where she was from. I told her my name as I snapped on my gloves. Told her that an autopsy was to be performed, that it was my job. I hummed softly to myself, matching the pitch of the freezers. I brushed hair out of her eyes with a gloved finger. I told her about the morning, how grey and chill it was. As I spoke, I moved through my preparation. I laid my tools laid out, descending in order, the metal shining. Superiority dictated by usefulness. Life was not as simple, but death could be. I began to feel my thoughts slow, fade away. It always did here. Soon I would be tranquil as water. I said not to worry; I wouldn’t hurt her. I made my incision. Red blood spilled bright over my gloves. I smiled. I was amongst friends.