In anticipation of October 14th when we will unleash our latest ezine story for you to feast upon, we offer up this appetiser from our very own Rinoa Cameron to whet those appetites.
Saving the Corpse
By Rinoa Cameron
Kneeling beside the corpse, I floundered. Purple skin, bulging eyes, a tongue halfway protruded between blackened lips—yeah, there was probably nothing I could do. Poor bastard most likely wouldn’t want to wake up looking like that anyway.
But, unable to ignore the call of duty, I filled my lungs, grabbed the cadaver’s nose, and promptly threw up all over its face.
Yeah, well, you try giving mouth to mouth to a soggy dead dude in a ditch.
I swiped a lumpy swill of stomach acid leek and potato soup from its rubbery skin, then tried a chest compression.
Slimy ick crawled out those shriveled lips. My empty stomach lurched and twisted. It requested permission to eject a second helping of soup, but I knew I didn’t have time for that.
No mouth to mouth. One useless chest compression. The only option I had left was the recovery position.
The body was no small petite thing. It had swollen with fluid that made it feel like a water balloon. I wrapped my hands around the thing’s hefty torso and hauled the stinking mess onto its side.
At least, I tried to. In actuality, it rolled too far and landed splat, face down in the mud.
Oh for heaven’s sake!
Now it really wouldn’t be able to breathe.
“You great, fat lump!” I stood up and booted the thing.
The skin ruptured and something purple oozed out.
“No!” I yelled at the carcass. “You’re not doing this to me. Not today!”
I dragged the body onto its back. Its face looked like a mud pie with bits of carrot stuck in it.
Mouth to mouth was definitely out of the question now, but I wasn’t beaten, not yet.
I jumped and landed with an omph on the cadaver’s chest. Bones crackled beneath my feet. A gallon of slime gurgled from the gaping mouth. I stamped my foot down again, harder, resulting in more green yuck.
I felt myself sinking towards the ground.
“Breathe, damn it!”
I jumped up and down and up and down. Green goo flew this way and that until I eventually landed on my arse smack-bam on the corpse’s belly.
There was a horrible popping sound, afterwhich I sat there with my hands in mud that swam with gore, and my butt in a nest of splattered intestines.
So, anyway, that’s how I lost my medical licence, but it’s not much of an issue, really. I mean, I’ll find it again. I’m sure it’s somewhere in this goddamn mess, but, and this is the particularly regretful part, I’m going to have to dig.