(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

Yech. I pulled a rag from my pack and wiped my hands clean. Always good to
pack a load of rags for just this purpose with the places I go and the things I
end up doing.
"What's it like being a zombie, anyway?"
"It's honest work..." The stitching came undone from Xachariah's mouth and
the flesh around his lips peeled back in a smile. "...I care little for it."
We chatted for a little while longer on smaller things, telling him of my own
recent travels. He seemed to find comfort in meeting someone familiar once
again, but eventually the day had been stretched to its limit, "I have to go.
Farewell, Xachariah."
"Before you go: I need you to do me a slight favor, cutter."
"What is it?"
His voice dropped, as if ashamed. "I made some mistakes, some damned
bad ones to be sure, and one of my biggest was signing that Dustman
contract. If I hadn't been so sodden with bub, I never woulda done it. I
regret it, and I was hoping you could set it aright."
"How?"
"Way I reckon, this body's gonna last a long time... and every day's too long
to me. Couldja maybe gut me again, cutter... for old time's sake? The
thought of spending another batch of years here in the Mortuary with these
whitefaces is a mighty cold one. Can you see fit to put me back in the Dead
Book where I belong?"
"If that is your wish..."
I look around, and certain that no one was watching I gutted him. Xachariah
fell to the floor with a heavy thud. There was a faint hiss from the body, and
the chest heaved once. Then, with a faint rattle, the corpse fell silent.
I spun a web of fire over the body, cremating it on the spot. "Rest in peace,
Xachariah."
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