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wolfintestinez · 3 months ago

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“ AN ODE TO NO ONE. ” — 🐞 janie scrabble.

another writing scrabble, but this time it’s relating to my saw oc janie ! it’s the events that take place before one of the apprentices get to her. it kind of goes into her work, and small things about her life, her character. this is really just me trying to get back into some sort of writing skills. bless …

🐞. . . . . . . . .

The latex tightened over her hands with every swift movement, a dreadful feeling if you’d pay too much attention to it. Besides, the day would be over soon and she could toss them right into the trash to worry about a later pair. The hands of the clock ticked in relief, showing that she was only working a few hours overtime. Almost twelve in the morning, and only two were left in the building. Her, and the owner, Mr.weiss. He would be in the service part of the parlor, whereas she’d be in the cold ground floor — basement. It wasn’t such a stark contrast, both still harbored the dead one way or another.

Except, in the brighter territory of the funeral home, everything was comfortably organized. Flowers for every occasion were placed on just about any flat surface. Combinations of blackthorn and lilies, or maybe carnations and orchids. It all depended on the requests of each customer, just as every decoration for the occasion. Each day a new casket sat in waiting; mahogany, oak, spruce. All of different sizes, all sitting in perfect stillness, just as the bodies that rested in them did. Posed to leave the audience with some sort of resolution, though she hardly believed that it worked with all the wailing she could hear from the basement. She never could force her way up there to spectate.

So she stayed to prepare the next display. In the night, usually. Where she could play her cds, keeping it on low volume to be respectful. The music she played never matched the symphonies or hymns that Mr.weiss directed for the occasion, but she handpicked each artist to match the lives laid out on her table. Only being able to assume what they’d enjoy from her collection. The smashing pumpkins played tonight, Mellon collie and the infinite sadness. It was the first album she thought of when glancing upon him. A man in his late thirties, his hair of ragged texture, as if he had neglected to take care of his curl pattern.

Wrinkles ran around his lips, as if a smile was the only thing he had left behind. Crows feet beneath his eyelids from bunching his face up too often. Pale skin put the reference photo she was given to shame. The photo showed the stranger as laid back, a calm grin on his face as he wrapped an arm around someone off the camera. The washed out band tee he wore almost made her feel guilty. He would be buried in a navy blue suit, one that was a little too pristine for him. Ingenuine, but presentable; just as most families aimed for. Still, he seemed like the kind of guy that wouldn’t have even minded. It was only fair that she listen to something he might’ve enjoyed as she carved and embalmed.

Embalming was an invasive procedure, but necessary. Even if she had practically spilled this man’s guts, she didn’t know anything about his life. Just that it was over, and he’d be six feet under tomorrow morning. His mother had chosen lavender and violets, flowers ironically grown to represent peace. She wondered if that was what he was, at peace. With a final glance towards the photo, she pulled herself out of the assumption based envy. A frown pulled at the corners of her lips in slight disappointment, he didn’t even look like the same person. The morgue door swung open in a tired manner, distracting her from her doubts. Mr.weiss, who could only be a few years older than the man on the table, entered.

In her head, she could imagine that the two shared a sense of tranquility for life. She didn’t know how, especially with the kind of role he took in the funeral home. He was the director, the one who faced the grieving widows, children, parents. The ones who had to strive for perfect order, just so the mourning wouldn’t lose their heads over a mishap. They didn’t deserve the heavy task. She could only work behind the scenes, doing the gruesome work of preparation. That was a different kind of remorse on its own.

“How are you holding up down here, freezing yet?” He joked lightly, a quiet kindness toned his words, showing that he was still actually asking. He was a good boss, definitely one of the better ones she had. It was easy to look up to him.

“Always,” She huffed, “but it’s I’d rather be in here than out there.” She nodded towards the wall, gesturing to the jersey winter. It at least helped to insulate the room.

“Well, unfortunately you’re done — aren’t you?” He nodded his own head towards the corpse on the table, already dressed and ready. He was right, meaning her preference towards being inside wouldn’t matter for much longer. She’d still have to trudge the streets all the way back to the apartment complex. With a hum, she pulled the white sheet back over the man’s face. It was odd, to talk about him as if he weren’t even there. She was glad to shuck the gloves off,the cold air seeping back onto her skin as she did so.

”i am.”

“Alright, well, i trust you to lock up,” he shifted the files under his arm, “i promised my wife I’d at least be back before 12:30.”

Janie wandered to the sink to turn the faucet on. She only nodded absentmindedly in response, focusing on the task at hand. She didn’t hold any grudges over him. He had a lot more going on in his life than she did, why argue over the simple task of locking some doors? Unlike some people she knew. He left with a small ‘thank you’, she always said ‘no problem’. When she turned back around to grab hold of a paper towel, she realized just how silent it had gotten.

The cd had long shut off, the songs deciding not to auto-repeat. She was the only soul left, besides the dead guy. Not a single person would happily be lurking around, only the eerie silence lingered in return. With dried hands, she could finally raise them to push her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. The red frames settled back into the corner of her vision, where she’d go cross-eyed trying to look at them. A familiar prick at her spine caused her to jump ahead, reminding her that it was in fact time to go.

With her jacket zipped back up, the scrub wear gone, she was departing. Her messenger bag swung side to side as she shut the lights off to the morgue. She’d come back for her cd another day. It was still early, and even she had a few dull goals to complete. She had to stop by the dollar general closest to her street. It was the only place open late enough half the time. She was sure most of the groceries in her fridge came from there. This time it was cat food she required, having made her own promise to the feline that she hid from the landlord.

A light smile replaced the blank, exhausted expression upon her face. Maybe bandit would enjoy some new treats , she thought as she traipsed up the stairs. Being met with the dark hallway was never a pleasant sight, but it was necessary to get to the front door. All the way from the back of the parlor, she had memorized the steps taken to get out. Past the file rooms, past the office and staff kitchen, and then past the open doored service room. It was always a little disturbing to pass it.

It stood to the right of her, the shadows casted over the seats and podium. In front of it laid the casket, where the dark had planted itself as well. Her gaze flickered way from it and to the front door instead, where she could see the street lamps waiting for her. Sneakers padded across the hard floors, almost rushing to get to the end of their path. Tonight was different. That usual closer paranoia had set in too early, and she found herself unusually glancing back. Halting immediately as one of the doors to the service room turned on its hinges. It took her a moment to decide on the reasoning. Maybe she had hit it with her bag when passing? Subconsciously her hand moved to grip the strap, brows furrowed now and the urge just to check came to mind.

The doors were always left open for a reason, she assumed. With faint steps, she moved towards it. Her trademark quietness now one of fear as she neared the dark opening. Ghosts weren’t real. The parlor was old, older than her and Mr.weiss combined. Silly ideas filled her thoughts as she stepped before the room, only one door left open to peer inside. The dark was still there, nothing too peculiar. Her hand reached for the handle of the closed one, pulling it back open. Just as she set it back into place, rattle of a flower vase distracted her again. Just enough to where she could see it balancing back onto it’s base, by the casket.

It was stupid to even debate going over there. But what if the flowers had gotten ruined? What if they weren’t settled properly? The corpse in the basement would have the possibility of crumpled flowers at his funeral. A disappointing sight to behold , really. Stupid rationalities poised her courage, it had to have been just some shotty placement. Probably Ryan’s fault. With a small sigh, her fear turned towards annoyance at her co-workers laziness. It made the most sense, he never cared for proper decoration. With the little light he had from the windows behind the podium, she could at least fix it.

Stepping further into the room, only to look over her shoulder — as if to make sure that the doors were wide open for her escape. They were. Upon better vision, the room was always put together. All those seats placed in order, the vases lined the room in a delicate but not overcrowding manner, and the religious paraphernalia preferred would’ve hung just above the speaker. There wasn’t a cross in sight this time, for once, she might’ve felt safer with it. Especially as she landed on the casket, the lid closed. It was supposed to be open, for visitation. Wasn’t it just open?

Her eyes were playing tricks on her. She reasoned with hesitate ease, her hands grazing over the wood in a leftover suspicious manner. Suddenly, her subtle paranoia had become a raging alarm. Her heart slammed against her ribcage, as if it were trying to run away — or to get her to do so. Her hand hooked under the lid, and in a mindless, quick motion she lifted it. Empty. Of course it was, what had she even expected?

“Maybe i need to cut it on the zombie flicks,” she mumbled as she went to turn. Her head didn’t get to swivel far enough before a sting met its side. Before she could even holler, leather pressed over her mouth. Kicking was useless. Rigor mortis had set in and her limbs betrayed her thoughts. She slurred over her tongue, as if trying to figure out if she were even still alive or not. The void of the room morphed with her tunnel vision, leaving her last thoughts to be unsure.

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