Death At A Morgue, by Danielle Keating

For once, I was surprised to see a mutilated body at the morgue. The body's owner was the victim of some horrific murder; the flesh covering his stomach was sliced off, his intestines were unraveled. Blood stained his body and the floor beneath it. My coworker pulled out another knife, completely unfazed by the carnage. When I closed my eyes, I still saw the organs. Both the sight and thought of this mangled body made my breath falter.

I’m a mortician, so seeing guts doesn’t scare me, but it does bother me when said guts are mine.