Chapter One: Alive in a Dead Place.

start of a book I am considering writing. It's one of my first that I am actually considering a work to keep adding onto. Let me know what you think, please. It's nothing close to my best, but enjoy.

It smells like rotten flesh, she thought to herself silently, as she made her way into the morgue. This was her first time there, as she felt a strange pull to visit. Ever since childhood, a voice within her heart had been sending her these vibes, giving her direction on where to go and what to do. Back when she had been closer with her mother, she had asked her about this...intuition, if you would call it that. Her mother had smiled a little, and responded "Jane, dear," for she was only eight or so, "you have been blessed with a wonderful gift called intuition. It's a little voice inside of you that takes you on magnificent journeys and teaches you wonderful lessons. Follow this voice, Janey, for it will lead you to the place where you belong..." Janey never had followed it of course. She had had a strong dislike for her mother since the age of three, and twenty-five years later, she still had felt the same. And besides, she was too stubborn to follow anyone's advice besides her own.

 

 Jane shook her head, as if to send the memory back to whence it came, and her mind came back to the present, almost twenty-four years later. Since then, her intuition never faded, failed, nor disappeared, but stayed with her. She had to admit she didn't know why she decided to listen to it on this instance, when she never had before. She reasoned that she had nothing better to do with her day, though deep inside she knew that was not true. She wouldn't admit it, even to herself, for a long time afterwards, that that oice inside her was something beyond human understanding.

 

Nonetheless, she was there now. She tried to think of the lesson a place filled with dead bodies and an odor that carried on into the afterlife could give her.  Perhaps to see how these people who work here don't get paid their due, and to make me feel guilty enough to do something about it. Or maybe to show me the--she smirked--value of life. Just like on one of those Christmas movies, where there's a Christmas Past, Present, and Future. Oh great, my life is turning into a Christmas rerun.

 

"Uh---hello?" a voice from reality had brought her out of her reveries, where she quite often got lost having discussions with herself. She turned to where the voice had come from and had set her eyes upon a man, a good deal shorter than her and easily her age. She saw his name tag, read his name "John Doo" and immediately forgot it. Beyond that-she looked no further. He wasn't worth her time. Anyone who worked at a morgue for a living couldn't be worth her time.

 

"Hi," she said abstractedly, and waved her hand, as if to shoe him away.

 

He paid no attention, and inquired of her, "Miss, what are you doing here?"

 

She answered, annoyed, "I am visiting. Why else would I be here, in a place filled with dead bodies, a stench beyond what I could ever handle?"

 

He coughed, his eyes laughing, "You could work here."

 

She turned around, facing away from him, too distracted to even notice he was making  a joke. She probably wouldn't have laughed anyway, she rarely did.

 

Jane looked around her, observing the rows of cabinets, painted a dreary grayish blue. Each one had a number on it, most likely indicating the person inside. So this is what happens to you when you die, she thought, you are placed into a cabinet and your identity is no longer your name, rather a number. Wouldn't that look good on a driver's license. Well, at least the dead don't drive....they would probably take hideous pictures anyway. And we think ours look horrible?...She chuckled at her own stupid joke and sighed, turning around again to face the man who had found her there. He was looking at her with obvious curiousity.

 

"As much as I'd love to let you stay miss, it's closing time. Us people who work here have a job to do."

 

She only stared at him, her eyes flaring with irritation. Why does he have to ruin my journey? Why did he have to stand there and watch me visit the place. And why does he keep calling me MISS? Of all the people...

 

She turned and ambled out of the morgue, not even glancing backward or letting a simple "thank you" escape her lips.