Jules's audio logs

Death can’t be bothered:

“The question I get asked a lot of times, especially growing up, was how I managed. How I could cope with so much death at a young age. I suppose there are many answers to give, but in reality I think I just became… numb”

Death is a beginning:

“I mean why wouldn’t I be numb to death at this point, I’ve seen enough death and buried enough bodies that I have no fear or worry about it. Suppose it’s partially due to my growing up with Death as a care giver to me. When your folks work different shifts both always busy you need someone, and so Death decided to take care of me in his own way.”

Emergency Ward:

“When I was a kid I often spent some afternoons or evenings with my dad, a surgeon who works at the emergency ward at the hospital. He had enough time to talk to me or give me a book or a lollipop before being called to the emergency operating room, saving someone’s life. But sometimes it was too late and that’s when I would see him staring at me across the room.”

Surprisingly he was polite about it:

“He was wearing those famous robes of his most of the time, but sometimes I see him in a suite. I would just nod at him and he’d nod back at me politely, and eventually we manage to strike up a conversation about day to day life, or rather my life. I’d told him what I learn and what I’ve been reading in my books, or show him whatever I colored in my coloring books and he’d smile a bit more and nod. The staff often thought I was talking to an imaginary friend. Sometimes I wonder if they were right”

Opposites attract, living or dead:
“But he appeared fairly often I could chat with him anyways whenever someone was going to die. I think my dad knew he was there in his own way but just never said anything, suppose they were not on great speaking terms. As cold as Death was he was always nice to me, never really talked much but he did watch over me during my long stays and sleep over at the hospital. Guess he’s drawn to it so much death and life happening.”

A new plot in the boneyard:
“It was around when I was eight or nine when I got pulled out of school due to my condition and started working with my mom at the morgue. New education, what with being taught how to mix up chemicals for embalming or how to cremate a body, how to bury one too. So many ways to aid the dead in their passing and I didn’t thought too hard about it at the time. Wasn’t that liked much at school anyhow.”

Digging up the ancestral bones anyone?:
“So years go by and here I am just toiling in a crypt taking care of bodies, getting them ready for the big dirt nap. It’s not what you call a clean job but someone has to do it, and better someone in the business for years. Long line of grave diggers and keepers and what not. Suppose our family tree reads more like a tombstone.”

A whimper at midnight:
“You can get used to a lot of things, given enough time. But the one thing I always had trouble getting used to was the crying, the whole weeping. I be working late at night taking inventory and I hear it, a low soft moaning weeping. Took me a while to figure out it was the shades of those gone by crying. Some of them were crying with joy they weren’t living, and others were crying because they can’t console their family. Still have trouble getting used to them crying even now.”

So this man walks into a morgue…:
“After a while you just grow numb to everyone. You see all sorts of people, men, women, children, all manner of death, old age, sickness, burned, crashed, so on. Everyone dies eventually and how they die often tells what life they lived. Some are good stories, some miserable, and once in a while very bizarre. Once there was a corpse, Ryan Jeck or something, cause of death was being bitten to death by weasels. What kind of story would you call that?”

Some kids cry, some don’t, Death still cares:
“In my years growing up tending to corpses one of the most hardening scenes I had to deal was kids dealing with death. I wonder why people think we need to shelter kids from death; most of them seem to have a kind of wisdom. Many of them seem just accepted it and let their folks go on. Some broke down and cried, couldn’t blame them. Though a few times I saw Death there kneeling down and patting them on the shoulder to comfort them. I’d glance at him and he glanced at me… and we both would just nod.”

If skulls could talk:
“If death and burial rites were a language, I would be very proficient in the language. Multi-lingual in every word, knowing so many ways to bury and perform death rites, sprinkling holy water, burning candle vigils, chanting native words, scattering ash, every way to honor the dad I knew how, and I knew all the steps do it. Must be pretty popular student in many death gods’ teachings.”

Time catches up, dust to dust:
“How much can death be handled by one person? I honestly don’t know. I’ve been working at the graveyard shift so long it became a second home, every tombstone and burial patch just another day in the office. I must’ve worked with so many corpses that I always have an aura of death around me, and some notice it and look at me with fear in their eyes. I don’t really care. I’ll be seeing them soon anyways.”

Cream or sugar at dusk:
“It’s always important to stop at some point during your work hours and have a cup of tea or a cup of coffee. Helps calm the nerves, makes you reflect. It’s nice to just have that moment, collect your thoughts. Only thing is, how much can I myself reflect when I’m sharing a cup of joe with Death half the time? Least he likes his coffee dark.”

Dig a bit deeper, bury a bit deeper:
“After all these years doing my line of work I just became numb to it. You bury so many bodies you tend to bury yourself piece by piece till you just no longer get affected by it. Suppose it’s a blessing, you can do your work with little problem… but it be nice to actually try to understand how others feel once in a while.”

A long road yes, but not so lonely:
“Many things can happen in life and most of the time it ends with someone dying. Can’t imagine how many times I came close to dying during my time on this island, and yet I never felt fear. I suppose when I do meet my end it’ll just be another day, me coming face to face with Death. We’d stare at each other for a while, and then nod as we walk off to the next plane of existence as equals, as we have always done before.”