My Experience Of An Immigrant In A Crime Scene

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I had just arrived to the crime scene. Luckily, the officers had dispelled the crowd of civilians before I got there. I loved when they did that, it made my job much easier. For some reason I didn’t understand, the press had some weird mania for death, almost like it excited them. Or, perhaps, it made them glad that it wasn’t them. Nevertheless, I was there to do my job and only do my job. I had been a coroner for over twenty years. For most, the job was much too depressing so many of us only lasted about a year or two. Over the years I had developed some sort of imprudence when it came to death. Some saw it as blasphemy, as I tripped over corpses. It wasn't rare when I would be called dissolute or lewd. It had almost become some sort of joke and allusion among my peers. Although most found it humorous, sometimes such lack of caution would lead me into quite a few predicaments. On one occasion, I had carelessly tripped, landing me face to face with an adder. Another time, a dead man’s muscles made one final convulsion, which happened from time to time. You'd think I'd be used to it, but it had scared me enough to jump back and entrap myself in a large bramble. It took three men and twenty minutes to remove me from it.…show more content…
This time, the murder victim had been some sort of vagabond who had obviously been pushed from a high point. First, I examined the body, examining every detail on his blanched face. As I walked among the masonry of either some old ruin or burned down building, I noticed something. I looked up to see that there was no place he could have fallen from. I stood there for a moment, wondering how someone could perpetrate such a crime. But, before I could waste anymore time, I stopped myself from dawdling and got back to investigating the

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