The Yuck Factor That broke The Camels Back

Reads: 261  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 2

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Some people are grossed out by feces, puke, or other gross things. In a descriptive manner I des cover mine is death.

Submitted: November 20, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 20, 2013



Since I have had the capabilities to retain memories, I have commonly known what blood was, and it had no 'yuck factor' upon me. Blood held no worse of an annotation of what tough guys get when playing, until I experienced death. All six senses in the human body seem to get a serious red flag that warn one to leave the area as soon as possible when death is in the air. The yuck factor may not compare similarly to others', since it is an emotion yuck factor. For some, it cuts deep into the core of the person, and nearly quakes the very base of he/she.

As an overambitious teen, I joined the Fire Department at a young age for the adrenaline. I knew that I would one day have to stomach a dead body, most likely from a car accident. Two-weeks into my service, I got a call for 10-51, a motorcycle verse car accident. I rushed to the sene, and opened my door. My nose screamed to run, as if it had detected some alien intruder. The smell that creeped up seemed to be programmed in my brain, always there but never used until that very moment. A red flag of danger firing an instinct deep within me to run was finally fought down as I breathed out.

The detestable emotions from that sense were so convoluting it burned a hole through my mental stability. It presented such a repulsing effect, that I would rather swallow every bodily fluid, from seamen to fecal matter, than smell that again. Though it did cause extreme nausea, and will with the thought of it today, it caused more emotional struggle. The most sufficient description of the smell would be that of burt hair, human feces, and any other smell that causes repulsions combined, with the identity of coffee, because nothing smells similar to it.

The senses as i experienced next made the smell seem obsolete. As I approached the main commotion in my cheep, thin soled converse shoes, I felt something slightly slippery round objects, about the size of dime rolls under my feet. I attempted to figure what I had stepped on, but I had no success deciphering the object through the thick consuming darkness that surrounded me. Through the flashing firetruck lights I remember seeing my first piece of detached flesh. It lay next to a pair of shattered sunglasses, a section of an ear. It suddenly occurred to me what those slippery substances were... fingers. Despite all of the surroundings, the loneliness I felt in the crowd, the sense of fear that was consuming my attitude, the nausea, the compulsions of adrenaline, and the general demonic feeling, I kept my logic about me. I pushed on. I walked on. I continued on. 

I reached the IC and struggled for words to ask him for what I needed to help with. Just as I had coughed out my words, he did the same as he handed me the corner of a large white fleece blanket. "Take this end", he said as if he had to over come a choke to say it. His face had ran pale, just as I can only imagine mine had. I gained a sufficient amount of stability and said, "What are we doing?". He replied with the same, "take this end". I repeated myself again, except this time I knew exactly what we were doing. I did not even hardly mean to repeat myself, it was more a regurgitation to what my eyes were going to be force fed. What had i signed up to do? This was nothing like what I imagined, instead, it was real. 

My eyes have never moved so fast looking at one body, not even an attractive girl. I noticed bones pushed though denim jeans, a leg missing, and arm gone, and rib cage shaped like a foot ball with rulers stuffed inside. The face had the jaw unnaturally gaped open, frothy blood sliding down the shattered cheek bones, and a no skin on the brow. My eyes stopped their compulsive feast of gore when they locked on the hallowed eyes. Absolutely nothing from that wreck can be be more loathsome than those blank eyes. My only ability of function was to do my job. I set the blanket on the body, left, and smoked a half a pack. It surpassed my 'yuck factor' by a tenfold, and continues to.

While others' yuck factors may be substances that only apply to physical repulsions, mine is one that applies to physical, emotional, and mental repulsions. My largest weakness is by-far the sense of fresh death. I am very thankful it bothers me, because when it fails to, I am officially fucked up mentally.


© Copyright 2019 Shade Roberts. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: