The robot

A broken robot sits at the entrance of the morgue everyday.
It stands so still that everyone thinks it’s a stone statue, similar to the angels that eternally pray next to it— not like they share any differences, of course. Like an angel, the robot is the last thing that foggy eyes and blurred vision are able to make out before they sleep forevermore. Its cold, metal fingers move to close the eyelids of the deceased, and a bit of rust always stains it temporarily. 

Nobody complains, because he is the only one left to work in the mortuary.

Part of a dwindling family with deep history, Copper is the only lasting member to care for the vast graveyard. Everybody knows who Copper is, because it’s shovel drags on the floor when it walks, and its scraping strains at the ears to the point that it could be heard from a mile away. 

Because its eyes aren't eyes, and its tears aren’t salty, instead dark holes that bore past a man, with scripted expressions to only please, and dim pupils that hung on its last light.

Because it wears the same coat as the long-been deceased owner of the morgue– the coat that it couldn’t bear to bury with the rest of him.