Her face appeared flawless. The color of ivory, as smooth and perfect as window glass she had a perfect look. Her name was Tiffany, at least that’s the name I gave her when I found her yesterday morning.
Yesterday she was a grotesque mess. Apparently she didn’t notice that the traffic light had changed or thought maybe she could outmaneuver a big Freightliner going over forty miles per hour.
Regardless, after the postmortem she came here to me. I promised her parents I would make her perfect. I guess her real name her parents gave her was Agnes—a horrible name for such a girl!
Her parents gave me her latest selfie. A pretty face, though maybe too healthy looking for my tastes—all tanned and blemish free. I prefer my subjects with a perfectly wan appearance, resembling dolls of Victorian times.
So, after the stage where she is cleaned out, bled out and embalming fluid injected into her using an apparatus resembling an I.V. pole, a tube, and a long needle. Her face began to resemble the perfection that I desired.
I admired her physical features. She was seventeen, a beautiful, athletic body, but alas she will be forever young. When the embalming process had run its course, in a hundred years, she’ll resemble all the residents who reside at that cemetery, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
I applied more pancake to her marred skin until it became a ghostly hue. I then applied the makeup, lipstick on her lips that will never experience a kiss from her lover and rouge along her high cheek bones. I then placed her hair into ringlets to give it that Victorian look. Ah, perfection.
The parents wanted her dressed in a summer smock. Of course I complied with their wishes, though a lovely pinafore with pretty ribbons and bows would be better, though I didn’t tell them that. Besides, the smock was easier to put on her than what I had in mind. Rigor-mortis had already set in making my job so much harder.
I checked the time on my watch and realized it was quitting time. I smiled down at my creation before gently closing the coffin’s lid.
Jerry Schellhammer 