Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-24997065-20140920041405

My job is a coffin transport service, always carrying bodies to funerals and graveyards, with the simple smell of rotten flesh and a sad look from the people in the sideways, as they wish the best for the lost soul.

One day, as I went through a zone of my city at night trasporting various coffins, some empty and some with the poor remnants in them, I saw in the corner of my eye a scene far from my routine: A man, stabbing his wife as he covered her screams with his hand.

As soon as I saw this, I got out of the car, trying to do something for the poor woman, and started to call the man to get his look on me. As soon as he did, he ran away as fast as he could, leaving behind the murdering weapon, the hurt woman, and a envelope in the floor, with a significant amount of money inside.

I picked up the envelope, and continued with my job: Cleaning up what was left of the woman, finishing her demise, and putting her in one of the empty coffins, as I continued to look for my other clients.

I love my work 