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Description
Your name is Jack, and you wake up to the miserable sound of your alarm clock. Growling you slam your hand down to silence the screaming. After laying in bed for a few more minutes you drag yourself out of bed, and start getting read for the morning. What is your miserable job? What makes getting out of bed a chore? Dead people. You work for a Funeral Home, and you hate every single second of it. You scoff as you put your white collared shirt on, you always told yourself dealing with the dead is not as bad as dealing with living, and engaged couples. The dead are dead, they can't complain, but their relatives can, and that's the part of the job you hate the most.

You then grab a pair of slacks from the same rack, and put them on. You're boss isn't much help, he's always complaining about your uncaring attitude. He always "reminds" you to seem sympathetic towards people since their going through a great deal. This grates on your nerves like one would grate cheese. 'The person is dead! This isn't for them. It's for you and your fucking family', you'd always say to yourself. The person who died may not even give a shit about what happens to their body, since they might not even still exist. You found no point into spending thousands of dollars into something that won't matter in a year. So man times you find yourself walking the cemetery and seeing graves that no longer get any kind of vistors, and yet a full crowd of people showed up at the event. You growl to yourself again as you harshly fix your jacket. As you slip on your shoes, you walk over to an end table, and pick up your wallet, keys, and your box of cigarettes. Man of your clients hated how you smoked since some of their 'loved ones lost the battle to lung cancer', you roll your eyes and pop one in your mouth. You don't give a flying fuck how they died. You just get a paycheck every week whether they liked your or not. Lighting the cigarette, you open the door leaving your apartment. 'Another day, another dollar' You remind yourself knowing today was going to be miserable.

Description
Your name is Jack, and you wake up to the miserable sound of your alarm clock. Growling you slam your hand down to silence the screaming. After laying in bed for a few more minutes you drag yourself out of bed, and start getting read for the morning. What is your miserable job? What makes getting out of bed a chore? Dead people. You work for a Funeral Home, and you hate every single second of it. You scoff as you put your white collared shirt on, you always told yourself dealing with the dead is not as bad as dealing with living, and engaged couples. The dead are dead, they can't complain, but their relatives can, and that's the part of the job you hate the most.

You then grab a pair of slacks from the same rack, and put them on. You're boss isn't much help, he's always complaining about your uncaring attitude. He always "reminds" you to seem sympathetic towards people since their going through a great deal. This grates on your nerves like one would grate cheese. 'The person is dead! This isn't for them. It's for you and your fucking family', you'd always say to yourself. The person who died may not even give a shit about what happens to their body, since they might not even still exist. You found no point into spending thousands of dollars into something that won't matter in a year. So man times you find yourself walking the cemetery and seeing graves that no longer get any kind of vistors, and yet a full crowd of people showed up at the event. You growl to yourself again as you harshly fix your jacket. As you slip on your shoes, you walk over to an end table, and pick up your wallet, keys, and your box of cigarettes. Man of your clients hated how you smoked since some of their 'loved ones lost the battle to lung cancer', you roll your eyes and pop one in your mouth. You don't give a flying fuck how they died. You just get a paycheck every week whether they liked your or not. Lighting the cigarette, you open the door leaving your apartment. 'Another day, another dollar' You remind yourself knowing today was going to be miserable.