violet ward ✕ amanda young (reversebeartrap) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2011-05-31 22:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | violet ward |
Who: Violet Ward
What: A brief look into your average night with Violet and a bunch of dead bodies
Where: The Bishop Family Funeral Home in Albany, New York
When: Backdated to Monday night, May 30th, 2011
Warnings: Creepy.
One step, two step, three steps.
The clicking of high heels down the cold, marble floor. Clack, clack, clacking, every night. The gentle whooshing of the white lab coat around her thighs. It was always the same. Same step, same rhythm echoing through the empty walls. She never bothered to change it. After all, she told herself, the dead can’t hear.
The gloomy, monotonous atmosphere of the Bishop Family Funeral Home never bothered Violet. Neither did making funeral arrangements or chilling with dead bodies all day. They were just dead? As in no longer living. What was so damn scary about that? Nothing, that’s what.
Ten more paces and down the stairs to the mortuary, with a hop in her step and a whistle on her lips. It was always the same tune, completely made up. An original Violet Ward that no one ever heard but him. She took the last step at a jovial jump, both feet landing on the same spot as they always did. With a soft thud and her hands clasped behind her back as she skipped past the row of freezers to the table.
First came the injection.
Needle piercing putrid flesh, bright blue liquid seeping into an artery no longer pulsing. One finger always lifting to push up the end of her glasses as they fell off the ridge of her nose.
Then comes the incision.
One clean cut two inches above the navel. But that’s never enough for her. She gets overzealous and makes a few more cuts where nobody will see them in an open casket. She can’t help herself. The skin is just there, gray and bare, just asking her to maim it.
Formaldehyde.
So many chemicals, such a waste on already wasted flesh. It disgusted Violet a little as she retracted the syringe, knowing these could be put to better use. People just can’t be happy with dumping these bodies in the ground as is, can they.
With another needle and thread the incision is sutured closed, and she’s done violating his insides. Lucky for him. The last one had been in a motorcycle accident, they hadn’t been so lucky.
By the time she's done there's beads of sweat clinging to her hair line.
Violet did most of her work at night, it was the only time she could think clearly, the only time she and Amanda were free to be themselves. Shadows crept along the walls like whispers, the whistle still hung between her teeth as she heard his footsteps descending down to join her. It was her world now. Hers. And his. Not theirs.
Their game was over. Hers had just begun.