We all know about death, it happens all the time. Despite how common it is, I'd be willing to bet that you don't know that much about what actually happens to people who die before they get buried, cremated or whatever happens to them. I didn't either, so I took it upon myself to go undercover as a fake corpse to uncover the secrets being kept from the living public.
First, I had to create a realistic and believable way to disguise myself as a corpse. I started with immediately training my lungs to be able to hold in air for prolonged periods of time, and subsequently lower my heart rate to a near undetectable rate in order to be able to physically imitate a dead person. During this process I started planning how I needed to appear and where I needed to be. About $30 worth of fake blood applicable bruises and cuts would satisfy the former, which just left the location where my "corpse" would be discovered. I wanted it to be in a location where nobody would pay too close attention to me, and the inevitable 911 respondents wouldn't care that much. This lead me to the one definitive location: a back street of a downtown urban city, near a cluster of run down apartment buildings and failing restaurants.
I chose a night where it would be cloudy, to make less light reveal myself but letting just enough for me to get noticed. Once no one was around to see me, I began phase one: creating a convincing suicide scene. Choosing a random apartment building, I splattered some of the fake blood on the pavement in a pattern similar to how it would come out of a container thrown from the top of the building. Next came the fake cuts and bruises, applied to places where I would "hit" the ground. As a finishing touch, a spare wallet with some cash inside, but nothing that could identify me, to ensure that when someone found me they couldn't make sure who I was and also wouldn't pay too close attention to my living status. I laid down and began the wait, putting my now perfected skill of holding my breath and lowering my heart rate.
The wait to get noticed was a tiny bit longer than I had anticipated. After about 10 minutes I heard footsteps approaching me; and then I heard them walking away, without pausing for a moment. I risked glancing at them, and saw them walking away with the fake wallet I had dropped. Guess this wasn't their first rodeo. After that, I kept my position for what I would estimate to be right around an hour and a half before the faint sound of a police siren graced my ears, drawing nearer and nearer before coming to a stop mere yards away from me. I heard some muffled conversation from the car as they approached me, talking about "another one". My heart rate shot up upon hearing this; did this mean that other people had tried exactly what I'm trying and had been caught? Were they on to my scheme? How long would my sentence be if I was convicted? Luckily none of these questions got answered, as the cops must've quickly requested an ambulance, as one arrived at the scene not long after.
I was loaded onto a stretcher and put into an ambulance. Given the slow speed we were moving, my guess is that it must've been a non-emergency ambulance, if there is such a thing. There wasn't much talk during the ride, just one of the paramedics confirming that they were going straight to a morgue. This delighted me, as it meant that there was no chance of me getting found out in a public place like a hospital. Though, I did have to wonder: why would they take me directly to a morgue without checking to confirm that I had really "died"?
I didn't care too much about the reason why though, at least my plan was going according to plan. After arriving at the morgue, my handling was swift: taken out of the ambulance, transferred from one flat surface to another, and finally put into a corpse locker. And yes, even though I'm sure that they have an actual name, I can assure you that "corpse locker" is an accurate term for it. The smell inside of it was a combination of rot, blood, and that smell that's in every retirement home. And to add onto it, no light gets in there when it's shut; completely pitch black. The smell and the darkness together creates a pseudo-sensory deprivation chamber, only worse because of the overwhelming stench. It would be enough to drive any man insane. But not me! I was able to undergo the experience and come out perfectly fine!
In the early morning, the small hatch at my feet began to slowly open. I hastily assumed my breathless position, which I had even further mastered during my isolation as a means to pass the time, as I couldn't seem to get any sleep. A man in plain scrubs transferred me to a metal table in a separate room. Blinding lights came on overhead, straining my eyes since they were directed almost straight at them. Through the corner of my eyes I saw the man fiddling with something at a table, like he was preparing something. That's when the autopsy began.
He was poking around the fake bruises and cuts, which were still on my body, and making incisions around them. My nerves must've steeled up in the corpse locker, because I was able to remain still and didn't release my breath. I hoped that he would determine the "injuries" as surface level, and leave it at that. I suspect that he might've done just that, maybe even chalked the cause of death up to some sort of brain trauma that he couldn't inspect, if he hadn't discovered the one now evident hole in my plan: the fact that injuries on my "corpse" were fake. Who would've guessed a trained professional closely examining injuries would figure out they weren't real? This came in the form of him peeling off one of the cuts on my arm, and from what I was able to make out, an expression of extreme confusion on his face.
I immediately knew that I would need to improvise something. His discovery would surely prompt either investigation into my cause of death or whether I was even dead, both of which would surely blow my cover. I needed to act fast to ensure that I could proceed undetected. After quickly assessing my options I chose the one with the best possible outcome: I need to kill him. I took advantage of his momentary hesitation and sucker punched him square in the face, before taking the knife-looking thing he had left on my chest and shoved it into his eye. To spare you some of the more brutal bits I'll just say that not long after, I was the only living person in the room.
I had no idea what I would do after that. Maybe make sure that no one would find him? Yes, that's first. And where can I put a dead person without any suspicion near me? The corpse lockers. A new plan started to form in my head, with this as the foundation. I cleaned myself of any blood, mine or his, before hauling him onto my shoulders and heading to the locker room. I think that he may have screamed during the bad part (I'm not entirely sure, the whole ordeal is a little fuzzy) because there were some people gathered outside of the room, waiting for me. Without hesitation I hurled his corpse at the crowd, but it didn't actually knock any of them down. Instead it limply hit someone's feet and soon a couple of them were on top of me, with another making a scared sounding phone call which turned out to be the police.
The rest of what happened between then and now is quite dull, standard legal procedure, court trial, yadda yadda yadda, whatever. I won't bore you with any of that, but long story short: after I was forced to confess to everything (goddamn that attorney) I was thrown in a slammer for the foreseeable future, aka the next 47 years. Hopefully this piece has convinced you of my innocence and helped you understand why I did what I did. Together, we can force the secrets of "domestic death", as I like to call it, into the public eye.
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