Greener Pastures

The Mortician's Story

By September 7, 2019 No Comments

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?


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