"I am a failure, and I hardly pay attention to whether the sun is shining or not, because I don't have time."
"My parents can't provide me with support, and I don't have a high level of education. I'm all alone in the city, searching for my future."
"I applied for many jobs, but I couldn't get hired. Maybe no one likes someone who isn't good at talking, doesn't like to communicate, and hasn't shown enough ability."
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"I ate only two pieces of bread for three whole days. The hunger kept me awake at night. Luckily, I paid a month's rent in advance, so I could continue living in that dark basement and not have to go outside to endure the unusually cold winter wind."
"Finally, I found a job as a night watchman at the hospital, specifically in the morgue."
"The hospital nights were colder than I had imagined. The wall lights in the corridors were not on, and it was dark everywhere. I could only see my feet by the little bit of light seeping out from the room."
"The smell there is awful. Every now and then, dead bodies are brought in, stuffed into body bags, and we help carry them into the morgue."
"It's not a great job, but at least it allows me to afford bread. I can also use my free time at night to study. After all, not many people want to come to the morgue unless there are bodies that need to be brought in or taken away for incineration. Of course, I don't have enough money to buy books yet, and I don't see any hope of saving money at the moment."
"I have to thank my former colleague; if he hadn't suddenly left, I probably wouldn't even have gotten this job."
"I dream of taking turns being in charge of the daytime. Right now, I always sleep when the sun comes out and get up when the night comes, which makes my body a little weak and my head occasionally throbs."
One day, the movers brought in a new corpse.
"I heard from others that this is my former colleague who suddenly resigned."
"I was a little curious about him, so after everyone left, I pulled out the cabinet and quietly opened the body bag."
"He was an old man with a pale, bluish face covered in wrinkles, and he looked frightening in the very dim light."
"He didn't have much hair, most of it was white, and all his clothes were taken off, leaving him with not a single piece of cloth."
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"I saw a strange mark on his chest, bluish-black in color. I can't describe its exact appearance because the lighting was too dim at the time."
I reached out and touched the mark; there was nothing special about it.
Looking at this former colleague, I wondered, if I continue like this, will I end up like him when I get old...?
“I told him that I would accompany him to the crematorium tomorrow and personally take his ashes to the nearest free cemetery, so that those in charge of these matters wouldn’t find it troublesome and just throw them away in some river or wasteland.”
"This will sacrifice a morning's sleep, but thankfully, it's Sunday soon, so I can make up for it."
"After saying that, I finished putting the body bag in and put it back into the cabinet."
The lights in the room seemed dimmer...
…“After that day, every time I went to sleep, I would dream of a thick fog.”
“I had a premonition that something would happen soon, a premonition that sooner or later something that I didn’t know could even be called human would come looking for me, but no one wanted to believe me. They thought that in that kind of environment and that kind of work, I had become mentally unstable and needed to see a doctor…”
A male customer sitting at the bar looked at the narrator who had suddenly stopped speaking:
"Then what?"
The male guest was in his thirties, wearing a brown woolen coat and light yellow trousers, with his hair pressed flat, and a simple dark bowler hat beside him.
He looked ordinary, like most of the people in the tavern, with black hair and light blue eyes. He was neither good-looking nor ugly, and lacked any distinctive features.
The narrator in his eyes was a young man of eighteen or nineteen, with a tall and slender figure, long limbs, short black hair, and light blue eyes, but with striking features that made him stand out.
The young man looked at the empty wine glass in front of him, sighed, and said:
"Then?
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"Then I quit my job and went back to the countryside to come here and brag to you."
As he spoke, a smile appeared on his face, a smile with a hint of mischief.
The male guest paused for a moment:
"Were you just bragging?"
"Haha." A burst of laughter erupted around the bar.
The laughter subsided slightly, and a thin, middle-aged man looked at the somewhat embarrassed guest and said:
“Outsider, you actually believe Lumian’s stories? He tells different stories every day. Yesterday he was an unlucky fellow whose fiancée broke off their engagement because of poverty, and today he’s a corpse keeper!”
“Yes, saying that for thirty years he was on the east bank of the Serenzo River and for thirty years he was on the right bank of the Serenzo River, he’s just spouting nonsense!” another regular at the tavern chimed in.
They were all farmers from the large village of Cordu, wearing short-sleeved shirts that were either black, gray, or brown.
The dark-haired young man called Lumian slowly stood up, supporting himself on the bar counter with both hands, and said with a smile:
"As you know, this isn't a story I made up; it was all written by my sister. She loves writing stories and is a columnist for something called 'Fiction Weekly.'"
After saying that, he turned to the side, spread his hands towards the visiting guest, and smiled brightly:
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