Welcome, take a seat! Get comfortable, my friend. Watch this story come to life in comfort until the end.
Sausages sizzling in their frying pan on top of a gas-run white stove, a fork stabs into the meat, and the pork's juices run out like my football team onto their home pitch. The sausage's turning to get the other side more crispy. Looking back to reveal the bigger picture, a lady, her back to us with tied up curly rich chestnut hair, in her white dressing gown, is dancing to songs playing out from their grey radio in the corner of their worktop. She is cooking a fry for her man, who has worked all night at the local fire station. In this sleepy town of Sovereign, their last fire was in the town's only forest many, many moons ago, caused by a campfire also teenage kids smoking along with drinking. During the day, they aid surrounding villages or cities; at night, they only have one fireman or firewoman on, just in case something goes down in flames, but unlucky for this woman, it was her man that was on last night.
She is Samantha, her hair swaying from her dancing hips. Performance is underway, and I am in a happy mood. As she places the cooked sausages on a white plate, her sweaty voice sings the lyrics of the song playing. She goes to the sexy grey fridge, you know, the one I mean, with the ice dispenser, expensive but worth it, but that’s not the point. She opens the fridge and gets the pack of bacon out, shutting their half-full fridge, filled with different products which are stored correctly. She stabs the packet with a serrated knife, tearing it too open. The water inside their black kettle has begun boiling, steam floating from the spout and specs of boiling water spitting out because Samantha never follows the correct level—placed the first rasher in their frying pan, bacon sizzling in the same oil that came from the cooked sausages, as Samantha lays the second rasher of bacon down. She quickly washes her hands after drying them with a kitchen towel; she pours the boiled water into their teas.
A knock on the front door reached Samantha’s ear; she twisted the stove knob around, turning the flame off so she doesn't burn their place down. Reaching over, turning the radio down after she walks to the hallway, looking down, making sure she hasn’t got a boob out, she ties her dressing gown properly around her waist. She opens the white front door.
A police officer stands on her doorstep with a glum expression as he takes his hat off. Over his shoulder, you can see a suited man from one of their neighbouring houses, leaving his home, briefcase in one hand, with his other hand, he is rummaging around in his trouser pocket as he is walking towards his red sports car, situated on his driveway.
Not the person she was expecting, Samantha questions, “Hi Justin, you alright?”
Justin is a friend of theirs. A tear begins to stream down his cheek, and the bushy bronze moustache of his full beard soaks up his streaming tear.
He choked up a little as he found it hard to say, “Err, oh shit, Samantha, Sam’s, ugh.”
He nearly chucks up the contents within his stomach after he wipes the few tears that are rolling down his cheeks.
Samantha demanded, “Sam’s what?”
Even though she is getting emotional, but doesn't know why.
You can hear the sadness in his voice; he sadly expresses, "There is no easy way to say this; Sam sadly had to be pronounced dead this morning."
Her jaw drops wide open in disbelief; her head drops, crying into her hands; she can't hold it back. Justin grabs her shoulders, bringing her close to hug her tightly.
Samantha has invited Justin in; she is sitting in her chair as he sits in the middle, on the edge of her lightly coloured sofa.
Samantha, still sobbing her precious heart out, “How? How did this happen? What happened?”
Tears stream down Justin's face; he takes a tissue from the box on their coffee table after he passes her the box.
So let’s go to the early hours of this morning. Sam is a stocky geezer with styled black hair, clean-shaven. He walks up the stairs of the fire station, black boots stepping up each step, each step heard until he gets to the door at the top.
Walking through into their mess room, not much is inside, just a tattered old grey sofa, which Sam typically falls asleep on, after he does his checks around the station, also the fire truck that is underneath this room. Sam goes over to the sofa and sits down, removing his boots. While he takes them off, let me explain the rest of the room. Against the wall is a desk, no chair, just a few bits of papers scattered around, along with an old styled dirty white telephone in the corner. Opposite that is a window, the best thing in this room is a football tabletop against the wall opposite the sofa, but it is a battered one; the lads and ladies play when there is nothing, only time to kill. Sam places his boots at the side after laying on the sofa, puffing his grey t-shirt to let the air pass through because this room can get warm. Crossing his arms, then closing his eyes to sleep.
Samantha dressed adequately. She was in the back of the police car that Justin was driving. A lady's voice comes over the police radio, but Samantha drowns her voice out. While she is still sobbing, looking out of the police car window. People are just going about their day, oblivious to the pain Samantha is feeling. The car takes a right corner halfway down the road, driving past the half-burnt-down fire station, the scorched wooden flooring failing to stay erect like a man masturbating getting disturbed by a family member calling their name. The firefighters backed away not to get trapped underneath this falling rubble. The police have cordoned the area off. As the scorched flooring crashes to the smoking rubble below, the blackened, melted football tabletop distinctively sticks out.
Silver doors ahead, keeping the contents inside safe.
*Ding* “Basement floor.” The female voice says from the elevator stopping.
Samantha is standing beside Justin while the lift doors open. She is clearing her tears away from her cheeks with a white tissue while Samantha follows Justin down a poorly lit corridor to double doors at the bottom. They walk through with Justin holding the door open for Samantha.
They are standing in the morgue, an older gent dressed in blue scrubs, a face mask doing its job covering his mouth along with nose. His old tired eyes peered through his glass lenses at the naked body of a young lady, only pieces of cloth covering her genitalia, giving the lifeless lady a bit of dignity; the older man is cleaning the blood from the lady’s face.
The older gent says, “One minute, please.”
He dips the blood-soaked cloth in a silver metal bowl with blood-tinted water.
Justin explains, “This is Mr Preserve; he is our town, Diener, in his hay day, a wonderful surgeon.”
Samantha responds, “I heard Sam mention him a few times.”
Mr Preserve immediately stops what he is doing, putting the cloth beside the water bowl that is on the same slab that the lifeless lady is lying on. After standing up while walking over to Samantha, he takes his gloves off, dropping them in a bin, after grabs ahold of Samantha, giving her a tight hug, like a dick penetrating a virgins pussy, rubbing her back as Samantha has waterfalls trickling out from her tear ducts.
Mr Preserve consoles, “Listen, I am truly sorry for your loss; he was a great man.”
He rubs her hand while leading her over to the body fridges at the side of the room.
Mr Preserve questions, “If you need time alone with him, we can go?"
Samantha is cleaning her cheeks from tears with a damp tissue; she shakes her head with no gesture.
Mr Preserve asks, “Brace yourself. You sure you want to?”
Samantha nods while Justin is holding Samantha. Mr Preserve pulls the silver metal handle towards him. Mist is escaping as the fridge door swings open. He pulls the body out that is covered by a white sheet. He lets go of the pole that he just pulled the body out by; frost has melted away, leaving his palm print after he pulls the white sheet back. To reveal Sam, his melted face, singed hair, and closed eyes; Although his appearance is horrible, he looks peaceful.
Samantha sobbed at the confirmation while repeating, “Oh god, no, no, no baby, you can’t be gone.”
She kisses around the burns on his face after lying over, hugging his cold, lifeless body. Both men have tears in their eyes.
Merci pour la lecture!
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