The artist opens the door to the immaculate white room in a swift practiced motion. He begins to amble across the room to retrieve his tools, but stops to admire his work. On a long table in the center of the room lies his most recent customer. The old man's body remains absolutely motionless, waiting for the morbid painter to complete his work. Before continuing, the artist hesitates again drinking in the beauty of his latest masterpiece of human decoration.

A brand new pair of black dress shoes comfortably rests on the motionless ancient corpse's feet. The meticulously polished surface of the shoes reflects the stainless white room perfectly. The shoes shimmer with the light of the room, basking in the glory of their ability to catch the attention of a roaming eye.

The man's perfectly creased black pants cleverly avoid the spotlight and pass attention on to the rest of the designer tuxedo. The custom fit tuxedo jacket clings tightly to his shoulders. The dark black velvet lapels convey an extreme sense of depth to the eyes, as if the onlooker could become lost in the void of darkness. An ornate gold chain attached to an ancient pocket watch dangles from the man's left breast pocket. The hostility of the clean environment does not allow for the presence of a single mote of dust along the entire length of the man's suit.

Not a single hair dares show itself on the surface of the man's cleft chin. His mouth holds itself in expressionless silence. The lips are pressed tightly together not allowing even a molecule of air to pass between. The man's sharp nose perches on his face like a predator waiting to pounce. The eyes sit motionless, showing no sign of emotion in their vacant stare.

The glassy eyes remain unresponsive, set at their current position, not bothering to dilate with the change of brightness in the room. They do not dart from object to object, ascertaining surrounding, but fixate instead on nothingness. These windows to a human's soul show nothing but the closed curtain of death. The former deep green of the eyes has faded to a pale and sickly blue, revealing the body's decrepit condition.

Despite the obsessive cleanliness of the room, the smell of death remains. The overpowering aura of the absence of life pinches the nerves of the mind's eye. The full force of death makes its presence know in ways beyond those of human senses. Neither the immaculate nature of the room, nor the meticulous preparation of the body can forestall the presence of the only universal solvent.

The mortician shudders at his failure, despite his best efforts, to restore a feeling of life in the lifeless mass lying on the table before him. He meanders abjectly out of the room, head hung in despair, as the darkness of death claims the room completely.