People are horrible, all of them. I’m convinced that most people just exist to make the lifes of others terrible. And I’m not trying to sound like an unfeeling idiot over here, but you can’t say that I’m wrong. I wish I was. All people just live to feed their own desires, and today’s case shows exactly that.

In front of me lays the body of a woman other people called Emily. We call her victim number 7 most of the time. Other people would probably remember her as the woman that picked up her child from school everyday, with a big smile on her face. Or the lovely wife, doting daughter, maybe a sweet friend. They would all remember her as a living, breathing, but most of all, a happy woman.

The only Emily I know is laying in front of me, with a few fractured bones, broken lungs, mouth opened like a man that’s just gotten way to many bears, and the color of her skin resembles the white blanket laying over her body.

In case you haven’t noticed, victim number 7, Emily, is dead. As dead as the deer who has just seen the lion running towards them.

Death doesn’t scare me as much as it did when I was young. Fifteen years ago, my mind couldn’t or wouldn’t comprehend the fact that death was inevitable. It scared me that it would come, but I didn’t know when or why.

If you had told the twelve-year old Aaliya that her future job would be working as a pathologist, with dead people, all day, she wouldn’t have believed you. She would’ve told those were all lies and that death was the scariest thing on the planet and that she couldn’t be around dead bodies everyday.

But I guess people can change. Because I’m here now, with a dead person right in front of me. With the smell of rotting meat and cleaning supplies penetrating my nose, the color white blinding my eyes. Yes, people do change.

That’s when the door of the room begins to open up.

“Aaliyah, am I interrupting something?” The sound from behind the door questions, quite hesitant.

“No, of course not. Come on in.” I answer. I hear my own wobbly voice and realize the tears streaming down my cheeks. I wipe them away as quick as I can and put on the big, fake smile I always show everyone.

Sara shows up in the doorway with a smile. It immediately drops when she sees the scene in front of her. A dead body with me and my fake happy face poking out above it.

“Hey Aaliyah? What’s going on?”

I look up. Of course she sees through my facade.

“Nothing. Just sitting with a dead corpse.” I say, while awkwardly laughing. Sara looks at me with a sympathetic look on her face. I want to drench myself in poison as a way out of this awkward encounter.

When Sara sees my awkward face, she decides to not acknowledge the situation any further.

“Well,” she says, sighing softly. “I didn’t come in for whatever is going on over here.” She points at my teared eyes and then moves her finger to the white sheet covering victim number 7. “I just wanted to say that we at the fbi need you. Mr Valencis wants you to not only do the autopsy on the body, but also help further on the case. He said that we need all help we can get and that we don’t want another victim appearing.”

Before I can answer, she adds: “I know you want to refuse right now, but please think it through. You’re one of our brightest minds and we really need you. And this isn’t what Mr Valencis says, this is what I say, so please think about it.”