Who Is Knocking?

<p>The flickering gaslight cast long shadows across the autopsy table illuminating the stark reality of my work. Tonight it was a young woman barely twenty her life extinguished too soon in a single-car accident. Her skin still warm held a tragic stillness a stark contrast to the vibrant life I knew existed just hours ago. I had seen her smile heard her laughter in the halls of the middle school where I worked as principal. She was a bright light a star student with dreams as vast as the mountain sky above our town.</p><p>My hands usually steady as I guided students through algebra problems trembled slightly as I examined her injuries. The sterile air of the coroner's office couldn't mask the poignant scent of loss a bittersweet perfume of what could have been. The transition from educator to coroner was seamless yet jarring a constant shift between the promise of youth and the finality of death. The weight of this duality settled heavily on my shoulders a familiar ache I carried with me from one role to the next.</p>