BODIES OF THE DEAD-The Prep


Posted by Wurdolak on September 28, 2000 at 06:57:21:

(This story is dedicated to Sherry, and to my other casket and post mortem ladies, Angel, Living Doll, et al, from your Mortician)

There I was on the gurney, the sheet fluttering over the soles of my feet, tickling them slightly. My head rocked back and forth lightly and I felt my breasts sway with the rocking movement of what I lay on, I felt my nipples hard against the material of the sheet. Ummmmmmmm, I feel the song of every cell in my body, the motion is so delicious.

The Life Of The Flesh Is The Blood. This blood of mine was filled with enough nitroglycerin to stop the hearts of half this city, but I'll wait and enjoy the ride and the rest. I must become another person.

But payback first.

They caught me in the day when I was at my weakest, from behind they hit me in the back of the head and as I sank to my knees I felt the prick of the needle, I went down and felt the breath go out of me in a gasp as every muscle locked tight. Goodbye Hannah Alessia Glascow. There I lay on my back, my silk robe partly covering me. Forty five minutes more and I would have made blood pudding of them.

The coroner found some bottles and said something about my "condition". He wouldn't want to know my condition. And he is glad he didn't autopsy me, he would have gotten a surprise never seen in his years of forensic pathology. How do you announce the death by heart attack of a 295 year old woman? One appearing not much more than 25? You don't.

They are washing me with something, like a sponge, and I feel the soft tinkling of a sprayer. I sense in my mind the Others, cold, stiff, the spark of life barely showing as it fades. One, in the cabinet to my left, is lit by a trillion tiny grey sparkles, outlining her emaciated form. Chemotherapy?

There are two in the room with me. I see them in my mind as human shapes, their forms filled and glowing with red and yellow rivers of fire, each cell moving on it's way, moving, always movement, so delicious, so inviting.

My body is stiff, they are massaging me, kneading the muscles of my limbs, hard, rubbing, a warmth seems to creep back into the stiff but comfortable cold. They move my joints, I feel in an abstract way my arms at my sides, my feet uncurling as they rub, for what seems to be an eternity.

I am on my belly, and feel something going into my anus. Then a wetness and the sensation that my buns are being held together. Then the universe seems to turn inside out. Ah, I am only being rolled on my back.
Wha...now there is a pressure going into my vagina, like a...oh...my...God...he is stitching...I don't know if I can stand it...so GOOD...ah...he is stitching my pussy lips together...and taking his damned time doing...doing...doing...it. The tiny pricks of the needle...COLD and sharp...ah...so GOOD...that radiates out all over...my...my...nipples feel the pricks...and the tugs of the thread... I... rushing through MEEEEEE...

My head feels as if it is turned to one side, pressure on my throat, then a stinging icy rake. I have been cut, and now feel soft tugging at the front of my throat, a hand on my breast between my collarbone, fingers as if steadying themselves. Ahhhhh, another cold little stick into my neck. My head moves slightly as I feel sure fingers working. Another set of hands are pushing, searching, pulling the skin at the inside of my thigh, then the icy sharp rake and the pulling, pulling, and another cold sharp poke.

A hand pushes into my stomach, just below my breatsbone, searching, feeling, and then stops.

AHHH, and then a pleasure-pain like I have never felt as the cold, icy, sharp steel needle pushes through and into the right side of my heart...ahh...my God...it PENETRATES...and...

I feel movement. I am moving. In all directions. I am...my blood...ahh...flows...again...I...ahhhhhhhhhh
God...it moves to my head...I feet it come from my... ahh...ohhhhhhhhh yes...ohhhhhhh yes...dizzy...I am being...being...am I...massaged...rubbed...

Nothing. I feel...cold...my nipples are standing up, I feel the air flow over them. I feel empty. And weak. And tired. I see the Beings of blazing fire in my mind, moving, working, over me. My head is being lifted, something going down my throat, in my nose. My eyes are opened, unseeing, and tiny pinpricks as something goes over them and a fullness in my eyes, they are closed and pinched for a second. I feel a finger in my mouth, and a hard tightness, steel sharp, goes through my gums. My lips are pinched and feel a sliver of cold go over them then I am left for a second.

Ohhhhhhhhh then the warmth is come...a glistening, flowing, honey warm flow is over me, stinging, I...ah...ah...ah...yesssssss, in it's warmth, warm, golden cold fire, every cell in me dances and glows they hold my hands and my feet and massage me...me...me into my brain the warmth, ahhhhhh God, yes
...my arms and head and legs...OHHHHHH delicious! stinging warmth, silky satin warm sting of mine...ahhhh

Now I feel the needle, ohhhhhhhhhh, into my stomach, filling, warming me, agggggghhhh into my lungs I feel my chest swell with the warmth, into my throat, all filling warmth, the sharp...sharp...sharp...my warmth, ummmmmm...swelled with warmth.

Ahhhhh, massage again, I am being washed again, the water tinkles icy off me, seeming to bounce from me,
ahhhh, wiped. I feeeeel tired...I am being moved, I feel the caress of silk on my nipples and the flow of...I am being dressed, my feet stiff and together. I am being lifted...

Ummmmmm this is comfortable. More than any bed. I would lay and let them do as they wish but I see in my mind the rising moon, rapid as it ascends, my back so warm and my arms across my chest, my clothing seems to flow over me, and the silkiness of my bed is so alluring...payback is soon, ohhhhhh, the silk, my warmth...


"Well, that was done in record time, Charley." Tony closed the casket and wheeled it to the elevator. The old man removed his apron and hung it in the sink and hosed it down. "Viewing in two hours, can you do the honors?" Tony walked to the closet and began pulling suits, "Sure old man." he said with a grin.

The corpse was relaxed, the woman a Madonna in her own right in her graceful, restored beauty, the hardened features of her face chiseled into a smile the embalmers had never fixed onto her face.

(concluded in BODIES OF THE DEAD-"EYES"