When the alarm clock rang, I was squatting at the door of the morgue eating bread.
At twelve o'clock sharp, the lights in the entire building flickered and then went out completely. Only the emergency light at the end of the corridor was still on, and its pale light shone on the floor tiles, like a shroud covering the floor.
I took a bite of the bread and couldn't swallow it after chewing it twice.
A corpse from a car accident was brought in three minutes ago. The intestines were ruptured and the body was covered in sutures. I watched the forensic doctor finish the last procedure, then turned around and vomited. There was really nothing in his stomach, and all he vomited out was acidic water.
Eight thousand dollars.
I stared at the bread in my hand and remembered the face of the HR manager during the interview. He said, young man, just don't be afraid. The last guy ran away after working for three days, saying he was scared by ghosts. I thought at the time that there was nothing wrong with it, life was scarier than death. The words came to my lips and I swallowed them back. I just nodded and said I could.
Indeed I can.
The rent was already in arrears for two months, and the bills from my mother's hospitalization were still under my pillow. I looked through the recruitment software, and there was only this position with no restrictions on academic qualifications or experience, and a monthly salary of 8,000.
Who the hell would have trouble with money.
I popped the last bite of bread into my mouth, stood up and dusted my pants. The door of the morgue was not closed tightly, and the air-conditioning penetrated through the gap, and was wrapped in the smell of formalin, which was so sweet that it made people sick.
