- terminal catharsis
- August 13th, 23:25
In the autopsy, they find that she is brimming with words. The first cut down the torso releases a slew of them; they spew forth from the incision, staining the gloves of the mortician and dripping off the body's skin onto the autopsy table. There are so many of them, all jumbled together in a gallimaufry of colour and fonts.
It is hard to tell, but the largest amount is probably the tiny white words of inconsequestial thoughts. They are scattered throughout the mess, strings of them running through the other colours. There are blue words of contemplation in varying shades reflecting different depths of thought. There are red words of anger, some jagged and bright, some deepset and smoldering. There are green words of calm meditation, and yellow words of positivity. There are purple words of fantasy, and pink words of love. It is a rainbow medley of the unspoken words of her life.
The mortician proceeds, pulling out the words and sorting them into piles as he continues digging into her silent body. The colours of the words are stark against the grey steel of the autopsy room. The mortician seems unmoved, and continues his meticulous work. The piles grow and grow. At one point, all the piles stop growing except for one.
From her bowels, the mortician uncovers handful after handful of inky black words, bold and unforgiving. They speak of despair, of loneliness, of unrelenting sadness. On closer inspection, the dark words are everywhere. They weigh down her muscles and have seeped into her bones. They were wrapped around her lungs, and could be found in the crevasses of her heart and brain. They had blended into the blacks of her iris and buried themselves under her skin.
By the end of the autopsy, the pile of black words towered over the rest, overwhelming in death as they must have been in life. The mortician cleans up and writes his report. There is no longer any doubt to the cause of death.
The mortician moves the body back to its designated morgue drawer. The body is much lighter now, unburdened of its words. She looks at peace, despite the marks from the autopsy. He whispers a prayer into his hands and lays it gently on her forehead. He shuts the drawer.