The Morgue

by Peter Wu|

My parents are still confused why I’d given up medical school to come work here in the morgue. This is the third autopsy of the day. I watch and don’t even flinch at the sight of blood.

“Scalpel.” The pathologist said. I wonder if he can see my smile under the mask. “Cut open the ribs.”

“Like this?” I pretend like this was my first time exploring the internal workings of the human body. I feel warm all over when I cut into human flesh.

Working here in the morgue will, hopefully, keep my tendencies at bay.

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