The sickly sweet scent of death filled the air again as the thing on gurney began to wake up and weep. It's nights like this that made you reconsider your entire career, especially when they don't tell you about this in medical school, probably to keep people signing up.
If anyone had told him he'd be spending most of his shifts comforting the recently deceased more than their living relations, he would've laughed. Now he sits by the side of their gurneys, talking them through the embalming process and assuring them that their family had found their will/were looking after their dog/were burying them in a nice place.
Some nights were easier than others, just the elderly coming to terms, playing cards til dawn and generally just having a few final laughs. Other nights... nights like this where the body had been found at the scene of a brutal murder, were the kind he dreaded.
The weeping soon turned to incoherent screams of rage and he vaguely recalled that the victim's tongue had been cut out and force-fed to them before they'd bled to death. He quietly sighed and grabbed a pen and notepad. The sooner he started to help, the easier they'd settle in.
Who knows - maybe by the time they're officially done, they'll have accepted death and he'd have his peace as well. The morgue would be quiet and he'd be able to do his paperwork instead of half-yelling that they were safe but dead but still safe until they started to listen.
It was going to be a very long night... again.
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