Happy Earth Day
Apr. 23rd, 2017 01:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cornerofmadnessA little late but I was actually writing.
I even got a little sleep. Imagine that. Sadly I didn't feel up to driving back to Athens to go on the Science, Not Silence protest march. The temp dropped about forty degrees and I wasn't going anywhere without pain. (also the laundry won't do itself, nor will my final exams write themselves. I'm the worst sort of activist.)
So I was reading my friend's ghost book and I was reminded of something about resurrectionists and this scene popped out for one of my prompts (losing your job). I don't know what it is but I imagined a world with two religions (one highly anti-science, the other far more inclusive and progressive), magic too. Not sure if it's steampunk or not but it's probably around late 1800s tech. He'll be taken in by a mage and her daughter. It'll fast forward to their teen years soon enough and be their story. See what you think.
Zvon breathed in deep, trying to ignore the smell of rot. It would only get worse. In the flickering lantern light, he stared into the pit his father and his father’s friends had dug. Shards of wood from the busted coffin poked out of the hole, half hidden by shadows.
“Get in there.” His father’s shove nearly toppled Zvon into it.
Picking up the thick coil of rope, Zvon gingerly descended the few feet into the half-opened grave. He’d done it more times than he could possibly count but it never got easier. Thankful for the darkness, he slipped inside the busted coffin and tied the rope around the dead woman’s chest, looping it several times under her arms. Breathing through his mouth did nothing to ease the stench of her. He could feel the cold squishiness of the bodies everywhere, no matter where he was.
But if he did this, his father’s mood improved, he drank less, hit him less because there was money. Doctors paid well for the bodies and his father had no problems with getting them for the medical schools. If it kept his father happy, Zvon would hop into the grave and do his work.
He tugged the rope to signal he was done. They pulled. In the flickering light, he could see the corpse had been youngish. Her dress snagged on something. The men above jerked hard on the rope and she lurched forward, knocking Zvon into the rough edge of the busted coffin. Wood dug into his wrist.
Zvon yelped.
“Get up here boy,” his father hissed. “And be quiet about it. We need to leave.”
Ignoring the pain in his hand, Zvon pulled himself out of the grave. In the dim lantern light he pulled out a sliver of wood out of his skin, tossing it aside as his father and the other men loaded her into a hay cart, jamming her under the straw. It was a job well done and he knew it.
XXX
Fever made the room swim. Walls pulsed and shivered, colored blotches swirling on them. Somewhere in his illness-rule brain, Zvon knew he was hallucinated. The deep, fierce pain in his arm wasn’t a fever-dream nor was Doctor Dobro. He was one of the doctors his father resurrected bodies for.
“There’s nothing to be done for it. You should have been more careful Gosty. Who knows what sicknesses are to be found in a putrefying body. You should have brought him to me the moment he was scratched.”
His father shrugged, leaning against the door to their two room home. “I can find a boy to take his place anywhere. Your care costs. I only called you to see if you wanted his body when it’s done.”
Tears boiled from Zvon’s eyes but he couldn’t force words past his parched lips. How could his father say such things.
Dobro tsked. “You are a monster, aren’t you? This is partly my fault. I’ll work for free. We might be able to save his life.”
“Do whatever you want.”
“Rati, hand me the bone saw,” Dobro said then put a hand on Zvon’s shoulder. “You need to stay as still as you can, boy.”
Zvon tried to protest but the saw bit into his septic arm and his world ended in pain.
I even got a little sleep. Imagine that. Sadly I didn't feel up to driving back to Athens to go on the Science, Not Silence protest march. The temp dropped about forty degrees and I wasn't going anywhere without pain. (also the laundry won't do itself, nor will my final exams write themselves. I'm the worst sort of activist.)
So I was reading my friend's ghost book and I was reminded of something about resurrectionists and this scene popped out for one of my prompts (losing your job). I don't know what it is but I imagined a world with two religions (one highly anti-science, the other far more inclusive and progressive), magic too. Not sure if it's steampunk or not but it's probably around late 1800s tech. He'll be taken in by a mage and her daughter. It'll fast forward to their teen years soon enough and be their story. See what you think.
Zvon breathed in deep, trying to ignore the smell of rot. It would only get worse. In the flickering lantern light, he stared into the pit his father and his father’s friends had dug. Shards of wood from the busted coffin poked out of the hole, half hidden by shadows.
“Get in there.” His father’s shove nearly toppled Zvon into it.
Picking up the thick coil of rope, Zvon gingerly descended the few feet into the half-opened grave. He’d done it more times than he could possibly count but it never got easier. Thankful for the darkness, he slipped inside the busted coffin and tied the rope around the dead woman’s chest, looping it several times under her arms. Breathing through his mouth did nothing to ease the stench of her. He could feel the cold squishiness of the bodies everywhere, no matter where he was.
But if he did this, his father’s mood improved, he drank less, hit him less because there was money. Doctors paid well for the bodies and his father had no problems with getting them for the medical schools. If it kept his father happy, Zvon would hop into the grave and do his work.
He tugged the rope to signal he was done. They pulled. In the flickering light, he could see the corpse had been youngish. Her dress snagged on something. The men above jerked hard on the rope and she lurched forward, knocking Zvon into the rough edge of the busted coffin. Wood dug into his wrist.
Zvon yelped.
“Get up here boy,” his father hissed. “And be quiet about it. We need to leave.”
Ignoring the pain in his hand, Zvon pulled himself out of the grave. In the dim lantern light he pulled out a sliver of wood out of his skin, tossing it aside as his father and the other men loaded her into a hay cart, jamming her under the straw. It was a job well done and he knew it.
XXX
Fever made the room swim. Walls pulsed and shivered, colored blotches swirling on them. Somewhere in his illness-rule brain, Zvon knew he was hallucinated. The deep, fierce pain in his arm wasn’t a fever-dream nor was Doctor Dobro. He was one of the doctors his father resurrected bodies for.
“There’s nothing to be done for it. You should have been more careful Gosty. Who knows what sicknesses are to be found in a putrefying body. You should have brought him to me the moment he was scratched.”
His father shrugged, leaning against the door to their two room home. “I can find a boy to take his place anywhere. Your care costs. I only called you to see if you wanted his body when it’s done.”
Tears boiled from Zvon’s eyes but he couldn’t force words past his parched lips. How could his father say such things.
Dobro tsked. “You are a monster, aren’t you? This is partly my fault. I’ll work for free. We might be able to save his life.”
“Do whatever you want.”
“Rati, hand me the bone saw,” Dobro said then put a hand on Zvon’s shoulder. “You need to stay as still as you can, boy.”
Zvon tried to protest but the saw bit into his septic arm and his world ended in pain.
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