Crematorium

[HumanePain]

Chapter 1


I had drifted between jobs, but never stayed long, I just lost interest. Sure I needed the money, but I always managed to make the money stretch for as a long as possible between work.

I was in one of those stretches now, and had the freedom to wander the countryside, until I found myself in the Midwest: Mathes, Iowa. It was a midsize town that seemed large enough to hold the potential for me to find some odd job or another, but small enough to leave me alone with time to think amidst peace and quiet.

Changing modes from traveler to job applicant, I cut my dark brown, shoulder length hair to collar length, and shaved off my black goatee, revealing a pink chin that had been hidden from the sun this summer, contrasting with the rest of my tan face. My dark brown eyes made me look almost Mexican, but I was white, and was always told when I was growing up that I had a little Indian in me.
Now that I was cleaned up, I was presentable for whoever made the hiring decisions.

I applied at various places, answering ads in the paper, and would make my way back to the house, where I rented a small room. I didn't need much, just a place where I could shower and shave, and catch some sleep.

On this typical job hunting day, I had decided I was done for the afternoon, and wandered a little away from downtown, where the businesses were farther and farther apart, and the green hills began to sprout homes.

I noticed a large brownstone brick building in a few acres with a sort of retail appearance in the front, but this was inconsistent with the three chimney stacks at the rear, the farthest one belching smoke.

The parking lot was sprinkled with well dressed figures, going back and forth between cars and the entrance.
Curious as to this reason for this contrast, I walked closer, and upon seeing a hearse arrive and drive to the rear of the establishment, realized that this was a crematorium and funeral home.

Making sure my silver tie was snug against my white shirt collar, I held my head up and made my way to the entrance, with a solemn face, eyes lowered in sympathy to the bereaved I encountered.

I walked around and saw no one in the entrance, and so began exploring one of the hallways, expecting to find a family mourning room, or perhaps a manager's office, but instead, came to a pair of French doors that opened to the rear of the building, where there were rows of white chairs lined up facing away from the building, with a view to the beautiful countryside: a small lake, surrounded by a forest flourishing in the middle of summer, blue skies and white clouds, drifting massively, so close that one could imagine they were alive as large, lumbering beasts, grazing on the forest trees, as if they were grasses.

Mourners shuffled in and out of the chairs, some walking towards a large canopy, that shaded a beautiful silver casket, covered with flowers, with flower stands flanking either side.

I ducked back into the building, and continuing down the stairway, came across a stairwell leading down, and curiosity getting the better of me, took the liberty of further exploring the place.

Downstairs, the lighting was poor, and I realized that the only lighting was from slim, horizontal basement windows, and a flickering orange light coming from the center of the large, cavernous basement: the ovens.

Only one of them was operating. The others had "pilot" flames only, a faint blue glowing from the natural gas.

I crept closer to the one in full use, drawn by the warmth and reddish glow. A movement from the opposite side of the blazing furnace caught my eye, and I saw: myself, reflected in a mirror, my black framed glasses reflecting the furnace light so that I could not see my own eyes. The image struck me; I thought: I belong here! I MUST get a job here!

As I crept around the other side of the flaming stone oven, I could hear sobbing and crying. It was coming from up another stairway, light streaming down as if from heaven. I realized my intrusion, and withdrew back to where I entered. I hurriedly climbed back up the stairs.

Once I was back in the hallway, I looked both ways but still did not see anyone else. I took another look out the French doors, and noticed that the breeze had become a trifle stronger, blowing the flowers on the stands flanking the casket, looking as though it would blow them over. It appeared that whatever ceremony was held, it was now over, but now what appeared to be one of the funeral home employees, a woman of middle age, was struggling to set firm one stand of flowers, and then running to the other side, struggle to set firm again the other stand, then back once more, trying to keep some decorum until all mourners had left.

I walked a fast but respectful pace to the display, and, with a solemn node to the woman, walked to the stand she could not attend, and held it fast. She flashed me a brief but sincere smile of relief, and posing in my charcoal pinstripe suit and silver tie, stood solemnly holding the flower stand with one hand, and the other hand behind my back in respect, with my countenance somber and downcast.

After some time, the mourners left the vicinity of the casket, and the woman approached me, carrying the flower stand.

"Thank you for your help Mr.---"

"Emil Schmidt. And you are..?"

"Mrs. Shelly Gray. Pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you too Mrs. Gray. I assume you would like some help carrying the flowers inside as well?"

"Why yes, thank you."

We proceeded to the same French doors I had peered out of, and placed the flowers there. I then shook her hand and asked:

"Would you happen to be hiring help? I am looking for work."

She smiled broadly and asked:
"Do you have any experience? You seem a...natural, for this kind of work."

"No, I regret to say" putting on my most solemn, funeral home pallor "but I learn quickly, am fascinated by the prospect of working here, and feel I have the best of common sense in dealing with the bereaved."

"Well, I am inclined to agree Mr. Schmidt. Would you help me roll the deceased into the basement?"

Nodding, we proceeded back to the deceased, and carefully rolled the casket to a concrete ramp that led to the rear of the basement. I tried to appear not to know where I was going, so as not give away my premature familiarity with the place. But as to actually putting a body in an oven, I was uninitiated, and waited with curiosity to see what she would instruct me to do next…

[LaBelleDameSansMerci]

That's a captivating story. :P Hurry up and post the next so I can read it. *twitches*

However, there are some extraneous commas, and some comma splices.
One comma splice example would be, "I had drifted between jobs, but never stayed long, I just lost interest." The two clauses would do well by being separated by a semi-colon (READ UP ON SEMICOLONS IF YOU DON"T KNOW HOW TO USE THEM) or a conjunction like "because." The other thing you could do to that sentence would be to put it in the present tense. "I drift between jobs but never stay long; I just lose interest."
Or you could combine your first and second paragraphs. To tell you the truth, the opening is a little awkward. Explain how the character is in a stretch between jobs, then explain why. Then say where he is, blah blah blah.

"Nodding, we proceeded back to the deceased, and carefully rolled the casket to a concrete ramp that led to the rear of the basement" has an extraneous comma. Commas are not usually needed before words like "and" or "but" or "so."

Words like "reddish" could be replaced or modified with something more specific and vivid. What kind of red is it? Is it a vermillion red (brilliant and pure red, but warm)? or crimson (cool red, has more blue than orange)? or cadmium (orange red.)? Or is there a different word for the kind of red it is that fits better with the language of the story, or is more understandable to the reader?

Pay attention to vocabulary: don't use plain words for extraordinary things.
Do you have a grammar guide too? Not that you SERIOUSLY need it (trust me, I've seen worse). If you're serious enough about writing, you may want to spend about 15$ on a writer's guide. I got one for English last year, and it was quite useful. Mine is more geared toward essays, but I'm certain there are ones for fiction/stories.

And remember what every writer should: Edit the fuck out of it, then get a few others to edit it, then edit it some more.

Great story. Can't wait to see how it turns out. *grumbles about cliff-hangers*

[HumanePain]

Originally Posted by LaBelleDameSansMerci

That's a captivating story. :P Hurry up and post the next so I can read it. *twitches*

However, there are some extraneous commas, and some comma splices.
One comma splice example would be, "I had drifted between jobs, but never stayed long, I just lost interest." The two clauses would do well by being separated by a semi-colon (READ UP ON SEMICOLONS IF YOU DON"T KNOW HOW TO USE THEM) or a conjunction like "because." The other thing you could do to that sentence would be to put it in the present tense. "I drift between jobs but never stay long; I just lose interest."
Or you could combine your first and second paragraphs. To tell you the truth, the opening is a little awkward. Explain how the character is in a stretch between jobs, then explain why. Then say where he is, blah blah blah.

"Nodding, we proceeded back to the deceased, and carefully rolled the casket to a concrete ramp that led to the rear of the basement" has an extraneous comma. Commas are not usually needed before words like "and" or "but" or "so."

Words like "reddish" could be replaced or modified with something more specific and vivid. What kind of red is it? Is it a vermillion red (brilliant and pure red, but warm)? or crimson (cool red, has more blue than orange)? or cadmium (orange red.)? Or is there a different word for the kind of red it is that fits better with the language of the story, or is more understandable to the reader?

Pay attention to vocabulary: don't use plain words for extraordinary things.
Do you have a grammar guide too? Not that you SERIOUSLY need it (trust me, I've seen worse). If you're serious enough about writing, you may want to spend about 15$ on a writer's guide. I got one for English last year, and it was quite useful. Mine is more geared toward essays, but I'm certain there are ones for fiction/stories.

And remember what every writer should: Edit the fuck out of it, then get a few others to edit it, then edit it some more.

Great story. Can't wait to see how it turns out. *grumbles about cliff-hangers*

Ah, thank you for the very informative feedback! And yes, I have The St. Martin's Guide to Writing, but remembering all of the rules and examples is an overwhelming challenge to one who has lost many brain cells over the years. Regardless, I 'll shall reference it and do better in the next chapter!

Thanks again for the valuable feedback.

[LaBelleDameSansMerci]

Lol, before I read the last sentence, I was gonna say to keep it on hand...

Glad you liked the feedback . I don't do well on plot feedback, but I can sure as hell do grammar and colours (colours comes from being an artist...).

[HumanePain]

Ugh, rereading it, the superfluous commas bothered me too. They interrupt the dream flow.

Thanks again.

[HumanePain]

Originally Posted by LaBelleDameSansMerci

Lol, before I read the last sentence, I was gonna say to keep it on hand...

NOW I see what you meant!

I should never post during the wee hours of the morning.

[Mir]

I can't really comment on this as I have yet to read this. I won't start till you've finished it. I usually like the things you write and I want to read the whole thing in one go. Its a far more satisfying read for me that way. =)

[Drake Dun]

"Clouds drifting massively" was poetry.

Drake

[MollyMac]

Although I am not a fan of first person, this one did not bother me so much. The lead has a strange non-chalant way, almost detatched manner- objective. Scarily so- makes you wonder why he isn't fazed.

This excerpt of the story is a start, but it is not in and of itself intriguing of its own sequence of events. It is intriguing in that it makes you long for information that you know you are not going to get within those initial paragraphs. And that is not intended to be negative, do not take it as such.

It makes you want a background- whether or not the reader gets one is irrelevant. The want is important.

Strange than an objective character evokes a subjective response.

Part II, please.

[HumanePain]

Chapter 2

I was walking back to the house after leaving the crematorium. My satisfaction in obtaining a new job, that entailed little manual labor, was muted by the fact that Mrs. Gray said I could not help with the actual cremation until trained, there being various regulations that had to be met before I was permitted to assist with that ultimate task. I had been curious and wanted to learn first hand right away how to burn a corpse. I felt inpatient. I turned around for one last glimpse of the crematorium before turning onto the next street, expecting to see a second smoke stack fuming with the body I had helped wheel into the basement, but there was only the original far stack that had been fuming since my arrival. I wondered at this a moment, and then turned around and continued home.

That evening, I could not sleep; as I was tossing and turning, thinking about how long it would be before I would allowed to take part in the cremation process, wondering what my training would be like, imaging touching a corpse as I a lifted onto the metal roll away that would slide into the oven, picturing both male and female corpses and many other images that I had never before thought in my life. It seemed as if I were entering a new phase of my life, one in which the future was unknown, but still attracting.

Then the thought occurred to me: the second smoke stack that never ignited. why didn't it begin smoking? Why the delay? Or did she decide to burn the body in the same as the first one? This I knew was against the law, having done a little reading after dinner and before going to bed.

Curiosity got the better of me. I got up, and glanced at the clock: 10:45 PM. I got dressed in old jeans and a denim work shirt, and went out. I would go for a walk, and then being honest with myself, accepted that I wanted to walk back to the crematorium. I was obsessed.

Outside, it was no longer windy this late at night, the clouds were now slowly drifting at a higher altitude than this afternoon, reflecting a faint orange-yellow from the city lights. There was no moon to be seen. It was a cool late summer evening, so I had no discomfort walking without my jacket.

Soon, the silhouette of the crematorium chimneys were visible. There no lights on at all, but I could now see where the narrow, flat basement windows were positioned around the foundations perimeter, as I could see firelight glowing inside them.

Avoiding the front of the building, in case there was someone working late, or worse, a security guard, I circled around towards the left side, towards the rear, and began approaching the nearest window. Looking both ways a last time before my focus would shift from being noticed to looking inside, I then kneeled down in a flower bed, feeling cool leaves and moss at my touch, and peered inside.

There were no electric lights. The only light was firelight. I could see the ovens, the far one that was on when I left, was flaming now, but I had not seen any smoke when I had walked towards the building earlier. I peered closer, and then reflex jerked my head back quickly: my nose had touched a spider web! Wiping my face, and then clearing the window pane, I peered again inside. Why would the oven be on without a body to burn? Then I saw them: coming from the right field of view, Mrs. Gray, now changed out of her dress, and wearing a dark colored pants and shirt, with her hair up, and a tall, muscular man in overalls and boots, his long blond hair looking oily and tangled, and his face a scarred history of acne, pushing a silver casket towards the oven. So the oven had been "warming up"! Now, I felt I would get an early lesson, feeling happy that I would seem a "natural" once again when it came for Mrs. Gray to teach me. I could not help but smile with wide eyes as I watched.

The man put on some work gloves, and then opened the oven door. I could hear the iron hinges squeak. Picking up a pair of metal tongs, he used them to grasp and pull out the metal slab. It smoked slightly, vapors whirling from it and from the mouth of the oven. I thought this strange also, as from my reading, I thought that the body would be first put into the oven, and then the flames ignited. Then Mrs. Gray walked away, and returned rolling a cart with large glass jars. She wheeled the cart close to the far side of the metal slab. Mrs. Gray opened the casket. Then they lifted the body out: an old woman, dressed formally, in what color I could not tell, everything appeared to be reflecting flaming orange and red.

Struggling to keep the body somewhat stretched taught, so as to stay horizontal, they then swung the body onto the hot metal slab! The clothing and the corpse hair began smoking. Then the most incredible sight:
Mrs. Gray took a very large hypodermic syringe with a tube attached, and inserted it into the chest where the heart would be. I began to feel very strange, almost alarmed as I watched the blood quickly fill the tube, as Mrs. Gray held the other end up. I knew I would see new and strange things when I learned about cremation, and I was not disappointed. But I knew what I saw next was not in any training manual:

She held the tube up as it the dark red blood rushed to the end, and then she put it in her mouth! Her eyes closed, and then smiling, handed the tube end to the man, who did the same, only he seemed to drink more than she had. This took only a minute, and then he put the end of the tube into one of the jars and began filing it up.

Now, shocked as I was, I began to understand: A corpse that had been dead would have cold blood, with little pressure to force it out. But the blood from a heated corpse has blood almost as if it were from the living, and would bubble out of its own accord.

I watched them fill jar after jar until the tube merely dripped, then they both sucked the tube again, this time draining it of the last drops remaining. As Mrs. Gray wheeled the cart away, the man then gave the slab a big push and the corpse met the fire at last with a sudden brilliance. He closed the door.

I got up, and looking both ways, began running back towards home, looking over my shoulder every few seconds.