Creative Writing: The Graveyard Shift
The Graveyard Shift
You know things didn't turn out the way you wanted them to when you work in a morgue. [a]I could have been a lawyer. Or maybe a journalist. Anything, really. I laugh. It's funny how I'm already having a midlife crisis.
The sound echoes hollowly around the morgue. It bounces off lithe gray walls and sharp corners, completely out of place around the pale skin and lifeless eyes. The emptiness hangs in the air accusingly, reprimanding me for invading the cold silence.[d] The feel of death. The feeling of something missing that was there before. I turn back to my clipboard, marking down things like age, height, race, hair color, and of course, time of death[e]. I look down at the white cloth. It's spotless, hanging neatly over the table. It attempts to hide what cannot be hidden.
How did I become someone who stands over …show more content…
Jonah? I hear her voice, distant and frightened. Jonah, are you there? Jonah! I spin around, but all I see is fire. Gold and crimson sparks burn my skin.
Izzie? I yell, I scream into the forest of smoke and flame. Im coming, where are you? The fire crackles and hisses, but I cant hear Izzie. The smoke is closing in, weaving a tight seal over my head. I gasp, but there is no air. I blunder through the flames. Isabelle! The word tears its way out of my lungs with steel claws. I fall to my knees. The flames surround me, leaping triumphantly. A whisper, a prayer, a name. Isabelle.
I open my eyes. Buzz is scratching at the foot of the bed, whining nervously. I touch my chest. My heart is pumping as hard as if I was actually back there, back with the fire and the smoke. I take a breath. Not again. I say to Buzz. Not this time.
I stumble to the bathroom. My palms catch the rim of the sink and stay there. I look into the mirror. My black hair is sticking up at every angle. I try to relax, but I can almost see the reflection of the fire in my dark
You know things didn't turn out the way you wanted them to when you work in a morgue. [a]I could have been a lawyer. Or maybe a journalist. Anything, really. I laugh. It's funny how I'm already having a midlife crisis.
The sound echoes hollowly around the morgue. It bounces off lithe gray walls and sharp corners, completely out of place around the pale skin and lifeless eyes. The emptiness hangs in the air accusingly, reprimanding me for invading the cold silence.[d] The feel of death. The feeling of something missing that was there before. I turn back to my clipboard, marking down things like age, height, race, hair color, and of course, time of death[e]. I look down at the white cloth. It's spotless, hanging neatly over the table. It attempts to hide what cannot be hidden.
How did I become someone who stands over …show more content…
Jonah? I hear her voice, distant and frightened. Jonah, are you there? Jonah! I spin around, but all I see is fire. Gold and crimson sparks burn my skin.
Izzie? I yell, I scream into the forest of smoke and flame. Im coming, where are you? The fire crackles and hisses, but I cant hear Izzie. The smoke is closing in, weaving a tight seal over my head. I gasp, but there is no air. I blunder through the flames. Isabelle! The word tears its way out of my lungs with steel claws. I fall to my knees. The flames surround me, leaping triumphantly. A whisper, a prayer, a name. Isabelle.
I open my eyes. Buzz is scratching at the foot of the bed, whining nervously. I touch my chest. My heart is pumping as hard as if I was actually back there, back with the fire and the smoke. I take a breath. Not again. I say to Buzz. Not this time.
I stumble to the bathroom. My palms catch the rim of the sink and stay there. I look into the mirror. My black hair is sticking up at every angle. I try to relax, but I can almost see the reflection of the fire in my dark