White body bag found nearby.

The White Body Bag In the dimly lit morgue, a white body bag lay on the cold steel table, its pristine surface stark against the gray walls. It was a symbol of finality, a silent shroud for the stories that once animated the form now concealed within. The zipper gleamed like a silver thread in the sterile room, a tangible boundary between life and death. The attending coroner, clad in blue scrubs, approached with a somber reverence. Each step echoed softly, as if the room itself were holding its breath. With gloved hands, he reached for the zipper, pausing for a moment to consider the gravity of the act. This was more than just a procedure; it was an unzipping of a world unknown, a glimpse into the mysteries of what once was. Slowly, methodically, the zipper descended, revealing a pale hand resting against the side of the bag. Fingers slightly curled, as though they had been clutching something precious even in departure. The coroner noted the details clinically, yet his eyes could not help but linger on that hand, a mute testament to the person who had lived, loved, and ultimately, passed. As the opening widened, the face of the deceased emerged. It was serene, almost peaceful, belying the violence that had likely preceded this moment It was serene, almost peaceful, belying the violence that had likely preceded this moment It was serene, almost peaceful, belying the violence that had likely preceded this moment It was serene, almost peaceful, belying the violence that had likely preceded this momentwhite body bag. The coroner's gaze softened, aware of the story behind each bruise, each cut. He had seen too many like this, victims of senseless crimes, their only crime being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But today, he would give this person back their dignity. With careful motions, he prepared the body for autopsy, each incision precise, each examination thorough. Under the harsh lights, the white body bag became a canvas for the narrative of a life cut short, its purity a stark contrast to the red of blood and the blue of bruises. When the work was done, the coroner closed the bag once more, sealing away the evidence but not the memory. The white body bag was more than just a container; it was a vessel for justice, for truth, for the acknowledgment of a life that deserved to be remembered. It rolled out of the morgue, not just a statistic, but a story waiting to be told, a story that would not end with a silent zipper but with the sound of voices raised in quest for answers. And in that cold, sterile room, the white body bag remained, awaiting its next silent occupant, a receptacle for the unfinished chapters of countless lives, each one a puzzle piece in the grand narrative of humanity's fragility and resilience.