…called “Dirty Work.” Enjoy!
She was surprised to find, among the mess of leaking alcohol and fallen white pills, that death was a lot like life. Or at least it seemed to be, in that she awoke sitting in the exact same slumped position on the bathroom floor in which she last remembered finding herself. The difference was, there was a hunched elderly man in overalls standing over her that Eva distinctly remembered not being there before.
“Who are you?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Don’t matter none, girl. You’re comin’ with me. Got somethin’ to show you.”
It was odd—Eva, try as she might, could not pick up on the specifics of the man’s features. Every time she tried, his face seemed to blur right in front of her.
“I can’t,” she found herself saying, her voice unrecognizable to her own ears, “I’m dying. I’m supposed to be dead.”
The man snorted, holding out a rickety, tremoring hand. “Well. You ain’t dead yet. Obviously. So come on then. I ain’t got all day.”