Every third Friday of the month, at precisely 3:37 a.m., the door bell rings like clock work. Today my sister, Luarissa yelled up the stairs to me, "we got another one!" Today it was not the third Friday of the month, and it wasn't three a.m., either. Today is Tuesday, and it is five in the afternoon. How could they deliver this frozen wrapped body to my porch in clear day light? It's so odd how accustomed Luarissa has gotten toward this whole fiasco. It worries me that she may think that this is right. Dad is a scientist who got fired by the government for his impractical practices on human remains. Now he never leaves our basement. We only see him on the Friday's that we take the remains downstairs for him to work on. Without those third Friday's we would be bastards. Mom left when he was let go, and she didn't bother taking us with her. Our father believes he can use human remains to create robotic humans that live for eternity. I am unsure how he gets these corpses delivered to our house so often, but he always finds a way. So far we have delivered forty-two cold ones to his little laboratory. So far he has failed. It's a real sad thing to live with. I only hope that Laurissa and I get out alive.
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