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So, this is a prelude to a story that I'm about to write. This is a very rough copy of it, since this was written for a creative writing class as a short-story. I called it Clean-Up Day, and...well, here you go? It's kind of graphic in the morbid sense, so yes.
The maggots were starting to crawl out of the stomach.
"Must be time for another clean-up day," said a man, looking at the dismembered body with disgust.
The man picked up a mop and began to clean away the blood surrounding the corpse, it stale and brown from weeks of being ignored.
"Always such a flipping mess," the man cursed, picking up a severed hand with his glove, tossing it to the side where the hand struck the wall with a meaty slap and bounced off into the nearby trashcan.
The man continued to clean the area around the body, occasionally dipping the mop into increasingly dirty water. The cement floors were the easiest to clear, leaving only a dank aroma, but the walls, however, were another story.
"Stupid wench," muttered the man darkly, setting about his new task. He cast aside a few broken-off fingernails then removed a bloodstained rag from his coat, scrubbing into the deep rivets of nail paths scratched upon the quartz walls.
Halfway into his job, the man slipped, catching himself before he fell upon the floor. Scowling, he looked down to see what had caused him to fall.
A single, bright blue eye gazed back at him, the optic nerve, which would have been attached to the brain, was now attached to something else. The sole of his blood-crusted boot.
He let out a feral scream and charged back to the owner of the eye, the corpse.
"You whore!" He screamed, kicking the body in the temple, the head rolling to the side with a sick crunch of breaking bone.
After a moment, the man tilted his head to the side, as if he were listening, then smiled softly at the body. "Oh, Nancy. I do love you, but you return my love too late. I have another in my heart now. I must earn her love," the man said, leaning down to lay a soft kiss on the stiff lips.
The man returned to his work, a gentle smile on his face, the irritable haste gone.
When he was done, the body inside a box for later burial, the man strode out of the room calmly, with a small skip in his step. He walked the hall filled with doors, searching inside his coat to retrieve a medical bag. Bag in hand, he came to a door with the number eighty-three painted on it. It was at this door, he paused.
Entering a code, the man stood, making sure his hair was in the proper place as the door opened. A girl with luminous green eyes looked up, eyes widening like a does'.
Accounting her reaction to his appearance, the man looked down at his bloody clothes apologetically. "Sorry, love. Just another clean-up day."
The man smiled at her and walked into the room, slamming the door shut as a scream filled the hall of the many doors.
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