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Weekly Contest #183
The room was cold. I stared down at my own face, seeing the y-shaped incision that the coroner had left across my chest. I’m not sure why I was worried about the coroner’s cut on my body, it wasn’t worse than the gunshot wound to my head that had ended my life. I vaguely thought that they both would leave horrible scars, but then I remembered: I'm dead. And the room I was standing in was a morgue. And none of that mattered to me anymore. I tried to remember my last moments before I was unceremoniously shuffled from the mortal coil, but all ...
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