Post by TBP on Feb 25, 2010 18:41:21 GMT -5
Just a small warning; it gets disturbing at times.
I need to fix some parts of the story BUT I'M LAZY.
Cleaners
I reside in a world littered with violence and death; anarchy and suicide; a collapsed government. The streets are broken; concrete layered in shards of shattered glass, buildings cracking and crumbling down. It is unsafe and unwise to step a foot outside, generally on the risk of being brutally murdered. Everybody's crazy here, hundreds of murders taking place each day, for no apparent reason; people just like to kill. A sick, sadistic world. The constant dread of having your family or yourself killed drives you insane. The suicide rate - thousands per week. A bullet through the brain being the most used, and effective, as it seems.
The only reason I know this: I'm a cleaner. Not a janitor mopping up a cafeteria floor; I destroy and dispose of the corpses left behind by those who choose to kill themselves. I am a witness to many suicides; they take place anywhere, any time. Just pull the gun out from the pocket of a tattered old jacket, press it against the temple. Bang. Dead. The end. Nothing to worry about anymore. Why don't I kill myself? I'm too dedicated to my "job". Us cleaners, most of which have an intense fascination with the human body, but we're too wimpy to kill a man ourselves. We tend to have a bit of fun with the body before it's disposal; examine it, feel around a bit, and in some cases... we... well, you know. A spot of necrophilia here and there.
I'm not the necrophilic type; I just have an obsession with the human torso and chest. I love to feel the curves on the body... such soft, cold skin. Now, after we've had our time, we destroy the body and it's clothes. We each use different ways; burning being the most common. Sometimes, acid is used (I'm still curious as to where you even find acid...) and in some cases, cannibalism. Food is pretty hard to find, so if you think about it, this is actually a pretty damn good idea. Mind you, I don't think I could eat a person with it's little glazed eyes staring up at me.
I've noticed that the average suicide victim is the caucasian male, aged from around 18-30-something. If you live past age 35, you're god, so it seems. A lot of women die in childbirth, as there's no-one to help them. Hospitals? No. There's none. Not a single one. Illness is another big killer, but it's usually death-by-gun before any illness reaches peak point. Another little thing I've noticed; fathers of children tend to bring their little angels along with them when they decide to end it. I've listened to a conversation between a daughter and father about to commit suicide.
"Daddy I'm going to heaven right?"
"Yes, honey. We'll be together for ever."
"Will it hurt, daddy? I'm worried."
"No, my little sugarpie. Nothing will hurt."
He then proceeded to pull his gun out, shoot the little girl point blank in the forehead, then turn the gun on himself. It's not sad once you've seen it hundreds, thousands, of times. I just burned the bodies, got on with the job.
It's a daily part of my life, and every other cleaner's life. Hiding behind dumpsters, waiting for the bang. Day in, day out. I enjoy it. I genuinely enjoy it. We ALL enjoy it. The strong metallic smell that fills my lungs each time; touchy-feely with the corpse; mmm. The smell of burning flesh... Maybe I should try cannibalism after all.
I need to fix some parts of the story BUT I'M LAZY.
Cleaners
I reside in a world littered with violence and death; anarchy and suicide; a collapsed government. The streets are broken; concrete layered in shards of shattered glass, buildings cracking and crumbling down. It is unsafe and unwise to step a foot outside, generally on the risk of being brutally murdered. Everybody's crazy here, hundreds of murders taking place each day, for no apparent reason; people just like to kill. A sick, sadistic world. The constant dread of having your family or yourself killed drives you insane. The suicide rate - thousands per week. A bullet through the brain being the most used, and effective, as it seems.
The only reason I know this: I'm a cleaner. Not a janitor mopping up a cafeteria floor; I destroy and dispose of the corpses left behind by those who choose to kill themselves. I am a witness to many suicides; they take place anywhere, any time. Just pull the gun out from the pocket of a tattered old jacket, press it against the temple. Bang. Dead. The end. Nothing to worry about anymore. Why don't I kill myself? I'm too dedicated to my "job". Us cleaners, most of which have an intense fascination with the human body, but we're too wimpy to kill a man ourselves. We tend to have a bit of fun with the body before it's disposal; examine it, feel around a bit, and in some cases... we... well, you know. A spot of necrophilia here and there.
I'm not the necrophilic type; I just have an obsession with the human torso and chest. I love to feel the curves on the body... such soft, cold skin. Now, after we've had our time, we destroy the body and it's clothes. We each use different ways; burning being the most common. Sometimes, acid is used (I'm still curious as to where you even find acid...) and in some cases, cannibalism. Food is pretty hard to find, so if you think about it, this is actually a pretty damn good idea. Mind you, I don't think I could eat a person with it's little glazed eyes staring up at me.
I've noticed that the average suicide victim is the caucasian male, aged from around 18-30-something. If you live past age 35, you're god, so it seems. A lot of women die in childbirth, as there's no-one to help them. Hospitals? No. There's none. Not a single one. Illness is another big killer, but it's usually death-by-gun before any illness reaches peak point. Another little thing I've noticed; fathers of children tend to bring their little angels along with them when they decide to end it. I've listened to a conversation between a daughter and father about to commit suicide.
"Daddy I'm going to heaven right?"
"Yes, honey. We'll be together for ever."
"Will it hurt, daddy? I'm worried."
"No, my little sugarpie. Nothing will hurt."
He then proceeded to pull his gun out, shoot the little girl point blank in the forehead, then turn the gun on himself. It's not sad once you've seen it hundreds, thousands, of times. I just burned the bodies, got on with the job.
It's a daily part of my life, and every other cleaner's life. Hiding behind dumpsters, waiting for the bang. Day in, day out. I enjoy it. I genuinely enjoy it. We ALL enjoy it. The strong metallic smell that fills my lungs each time; touchy-feely with the corpse; mmm. The smell of burning flesh... Maybe I should try cannibalism after all.