Just a one-shot written during one of my more cheerful moods.
Disclaimer: Still don't own castle L
The dead girl lies on my table, her glassy stare fixed upon the ceiling, looking but never seeing. Her skin is mottled blue and cold to touch, like a china doll. I barely register however, all too accustomed to the icy feel of dead flesh. I live out my days in this refrigerated environment and am haunted in my nights. I have seen things no one should have to see, cried over people I never knew. On every body I see the face of a loved one, a friend. I tell myself that this is good, it allows me to empathise and I both hope for and dread the day when I no longer see the faces of people I know overlapping those of perfect strangers. I undress her gently, kindly, trying to preserve her dignity. But deep down I know the truth. These battered broken bodies, these empty husks, these remnants of living, breathing, laughing humans. They have no dignity. Not anymore. Those who bring them to me ensure that. And I can no sooner return their dignity to them then I can their lives. I know this bitter truth, I live with it, yet still I try. Perhaps in vain. Who knows? I only know that once they lived their lives, never dreaming of being here, on this hard metal table, so clinical and cold. I only know that they had family and friends who loved them. I only know that no matter who they are or how they came to be here, they will be missed by someone, somewhere. And so I try. This I see as my duty, to the victim and their families, to all the shattered souls with whom I deal. Everyday I deal with death and someday, I suppose death will deal with me. But until that day I do my duty, serving the lost once they are already gone. I am Dr Lanie Parish, ME and I cannot work miracles. I can not bring back the dead. But I can bring closure to those who love them, justice and peace. And that, I suppose, will do for now. I close the dead girl's eyes, cover her with the sheet and walk away.