She died fifteen years ago and since then, every morning has been the same. Every morning she goes through the ritual that keeps her corpse from falling apart. She wakes just before sunrise, greeting the sun with complicated moves and stretches that kept the muscles firm and limber. She moves stiffly at first, forcing pretended life through her body. Eventually, her movements come more easily and she knows she has one more day.
She sits in front of the mirror. Each day, another sag, another bit of flesh moving away from bone. Each day, she falls apart a little more. She pulls out the bottles and sets them in a row. She looks at them and sighs, "One day" she thinks, "one day I won’t bother anymore." But today, she knows, she will continue to fight the deterioration. Today, she will put on each lotion, each salve, each oil that will preserve her for another day. One lotion removes the bags under her eyes, while another lightens the dark circles. A thin, clear gel tightens her face, removing the wrinkles, while a thick, creamy lotion makes her skin look fresh and young. She inspects her bleached teeth, still perfectly straight. She adds drops to her eyes to make them sparkle. If only that sparkle could come from within. That was impossible, of course, since she is dead.
She unrolls her hair. She will have to re-dye it soon as it somehow managed to grow even after death. She brushes it out, adding pomade to make it shine. She puts on makeup to make her skin even, blush to make her cheeks glow, and eye shadow and mascara to make her eyes pop. With the final addition of lip liner, lipstick and lip gloss to give color to her bloodless lips, she smiles into mirror at her restored youth and beauty.
She goes down the stairs and into the kitchen. Her kitchen. Here, she rules and no one stands in her way. She makes a breakfast – sausage and eggs and pancakes for The Master, and a slice of wheat toast and half a banana for herself. She pours His coffee, fixes it with two sugars and a dash of creamer. She pours her skim milk. They sit in silence, him reading, her watching, waiting for him to leave. When The Master leaves, she is in charge of the domain. Until then, she sits, his silent servant.
The Master leaves, kissing her bowed head of submission. He does not tell her where he goes, for she would not be able to understand. What is left of her mind is too feeble to understand the mysteries he performs. She was brilliant once. She went to college, she contemplated things. That was before she died. Now she cleans and cooks and cares for The Master’s needs. And she cares for The Spawns’ needs. She only cares for herself enough to keep from falling apart. She only keeps herself together because that is the way The Master wishes it. Beyond his desire, she has no ambition, no needs. She is dead, but she has work to do.
The Master’s and Spawns’ things must be cleaned. The dishes must be washed, the tables cleaned, the shelves must be dusted. Beds to make, a ham to bake, and everything settled into its place. Mindlessly she works. She does not hate her labor, she does not like it. She is a zombie drudge, she cares for nothing. She simply fulfills her duties. She swore to do so so very long ago, and will not break her vow.
The evening sun settles its orange pattern on the white carpet. She sets the ham on the table and hears The Master open the door. She is in charge no longer. She waits on him, bowing her head for another kiss. The Master smiles at her, tells her that she smells as good as the food she has prepared. He does not smell the rot she works to hide. He smells only the work she has done for him.
He sits down at the table to eat his food. She sits opposite him, waiting for him to carve her share. Suddenly, The Master remembers something. "One moment" he says to her. She waits, looking at nothing, thinking nothing. He returns with a small box, wrapped in a single scarlet ribbon tied in a bow. He hands her the box, watching her expectantly. She unties the ribbon as if her hands have forgotten how. A crystal watch lies inside the box. Its shining face reflects her dead eyes. "Happy Anniversary, Darling" The Master says. She bows her head and receives another kiss.