I always thought so highly of these white-skinned people with nasal accent. I never knew misfortune assails them. Worse still, I never knew they die.
Now, as I scrub their bodies held hostage by rigor mortis and inject embalming fluid in them, a disgruntled expression sits on my face. They stink, these white mannequins
Or, am I not the one that stinks? Will my people’s respect for me not vanish like billows of dust in the air if they found out what I really do? Is the ‘resident-in-oversea’ tag worth the risk of ghostly haunt every night?