I’m only the janitor. I just clean the floors and slabs with disinfectant to make sure it’s spick and span for the morticians to preform their dissections in the morning.
But every now and again I’ll hear someone try to communicate with me.
They start sounding confused, wondering where they are. I smile, it’s always the same.
Then they start banging on the metal drawer their body now calls home, pleading for help, pleading to be let out.
I know they’re air tight and soon enough they will stop complaining, allowing me to finish my work.