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Refrigerated Nights
It was much a night like this
When the darkness wrapped around me in cool comfort
The time clock nattered away
Waiting for its oak tag deposit
I started my job, with much the same aplomb,
The way I often do
The morgue was cool and cautious place
The smell of antiseptic battling the smell of death.
When they brought in the latest victim
She had auburn hair
That lie on the gurney, spread about in casual beauty.
After signing, they left her to me.
Slot twelve was opened
Or perhaps number five
Never the type of choices
For those not alive.
I saw, for a moment, impossible
Movement.
Her hand clenched in response to the pain
Her eyes moving beneath the lids.
I had to move quickly, to save what was right.
I grabbed the book end from the table
And smashed her head in.
She was dead after all.
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