Forgotten Corpses
This was supposed to be for fanfic_bakeoff, but like most things I've been doing lately, it grew past the 300 word limit very quickly. My collection on FF.net for all these little Kuro drabbles and one-shots is The Devil's Contract. I'm getting backlogged with the stuff I have to add to it XD.
Title: Forgotten Corpses
Author: silenttaiyoukai
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 640
Characters: Undertaker…and a very familiar corpse
Warnings: Character death
Summary: Undertaker tends to a body that had washed up on the banks of the Thames.
A/N: We’re playing by anime canon here…
The small casket had been brought into his shop just that afternoon, laid out on the floor amongst a dozen or so others. They were the bodies of the forgotten, the unrecognizable, the lonely people that died as London burned and had no kin to claim their corpses. It had been nearly three months since the fire had consumed England, three months since the Queen’s dog and his demon had gone to battle with her majesty’s renegade angel, and yet the bodies of these forgotten people were still piling up. The Undertaker did not mind. He enjoyed his work, and some of the corpses he was tending to were quite magnificent.
He lifted the lid from the smallest coffin and his face was split by a ridiculously wide grin. He had been told that the poor lad’s body had been found drifting along in the Thames. No one had come forth to identify him, and none of the policeman that dragged his body out from the water had recognized him in such a state. But the Undertaker knew who he was just fine. Even beneath the ragged clothing and the sallow and moldy skin, Undertaker could tell who this bloated child’s corpse had once been.
“Well hello there,” he said. “I didn’t expect to be seeing you again.”
Undertaker cocked his head slightly and ran a claw-like fingernail over the corpse’s cheek. “May I have a look?” he asked. He took the silence for a yes.
The Undertaker brushed the child’s hair from his face and gently peeled back the right eyelid, being careful not tear any of the fragile skin. The eye, though it was hiding beneath a milky white film, was clearly blue. A brilliant blue and nothing more. Undertaker laughed to himself, closing the child’s eye again.
He stepped away for a moment to retrieve his death scythe from the cupboard across the room. He passed the death scythe over the boy’s body in a swift arc. Not to his surprise, a cinematic record came pouring out, unwinding over the edge of the coffin and spilling across the floor. The reel was short, as it always was for someone who had lived such a brief life, and the film was blank. The soul had departed from the body, yes, but it had not yet passed on into Heaven or Hell. The soul was not at peace, and it never would be. The boy’s soul was probably in the belly of a certain demon, sentient and writhing in horror, yet unable to free itself and move into the next world. It was sure to be an agonizing eternity for it. Undertaker did not bother to sever the cinematic record. Doing so wouldn’t do the boy’s soul any good.
“Hehe,” the Undertaker tittered. “Did I not warn you to keep your soul safe, Earl Phantomhive?”
Despite all the other coffins laying around, he would tend to the earl first. He laid the death scythe aside and went around the shop gathering various beakers and urns, casually starting a conversation with the earl.
“They held a funeral for you, you know,” the Undertaker spoke to him. “The coffin was empty, of course. I dug you a grave right next to the Madam. I believe that would have made her happy, to be buried beside you. But I don’t think the same could be said for you. What do you say?”
Arms laden with various items, Undertaker stared down at the earl. The Queen’s beloved dog had become nothing more than a common cur in death. The Undertaker smiled.
Perhaps, after he tidied up the body a bit, he would give the little earl a second funeral. A modest grave with a blank headstone in a forgotten, serene corner of the cemetery. A nice, peaceful resting place. Yes, that would do just fine.
Title: Forgotten Corpses
Author: silenttaiyoukai
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 640
Characters: Undertaker…and a very familiar corpse
Warnings: Character death
Summary: Undertaker tends to a body that had washed up on the banks of the Thames.
A/N: We’re playing by anime canon here…
The small casket had been brought into his shop just that afternoon, laid out on the floor amongst a dozen or so others. They were the bodies of the forgotten, the unrecognizable, the lonely people that died as London burned and had no kin to claim their corpses. It had been nearly three months since the fire had consumed England, three months since the Queen’s dog and his demon had gone to battle with her majesty’s renegade angel, and yet the bodies of these forgotten people were still piling up. The Undertaker did not mind. He enjoyed his work, and some of the corpses he was tending to were quite magnificent.
He lifted the lid from the smallest coffin and his face was split by a ridiculously wide grin. He had been told that the poor lad’s body had been found drifting along in the Thames. No one had come forth to identify him, and none of the policeman that dragged his body out from the water had recognized him in such a state. But the Undertaker knew who he was just fine. Even beneath the ragged clothing and the sallow and moldy skin, Undertaker could tell who this bloated child’s corpse had once been.
“Well hello there,” he said. “I didn’t expect to be seeing you again.”
Undertaker cocked his head slightly and ran a claw-like fingernail over the corpse’s cheek. “May I have a look?” he asked. He took the silence for a yes.
The Undertaker brushed the child’s hair from his face and gently peeled back the right eyelid, being careful not tear any of the fragile skin. The eye, though it was hiding beneath a milky white film, was clearly blue. A brilliant blue and nothing more. Undertaker laughed to himself, closing the child’s eye again.
He stepped away for a moment to retrieve his death scythe from the cupboard across the room. He passed the death scythe over the boy’s body in a swift arc. Not to his surprise, a cinematic record came pouring out, unwinding over the edge of the coffin and spilling across the floor. The reel was short, as it always was for someone who had lived such a brief life, and the film was blank. The soul had departed from the body, yes, but it had not yet passed on into Heaven or Hell. The soul was not at peace, and it never would be. The boy’s soul was probably in the belly of a certain demon, sentient and writhing in horror, yet unable to free itself and move into the next world. It was sure to be an agonizing eternity for it. Undertaker did not bother to sever the cinematic record. Doing so wouldn’t do the boy’s soul any good.
“Hehe,” the Undertaker tittered. “Did I not warn you to keep your soul safe, Earl Phantomhive?”
Despite all the other coffins laying around, he would tend to the earl first. He laid the death scythe aside and went around the shop gathering various beakers and urns, casually starting a conversation with the earl.
“They held a funeral for you, you know,” the Undertaker spoke to him. “The coffin was empty, of course. I dug you a grave right next to the Madam. I believe that would have made her happy, to be buried beside you. But I don’t think the same could be said for you. What do you say?”
Arms laden with various items, Undertaker stared down at the earl. The Queen’s beloved dog had become nothing more than a common cur in death. The Undertaker smiled.
Perhaps, after he tidied up the body a bit, he would give the little earl a second funeral. A modest grave with a blank headstone in a forgotten, serene corner of the cemetery. A nice, peaceful resting place. Yes, that would do just fine.