Human Wast
“As you can see the CAT scan shows that he has full brain activity. His synaptic nerves are inoperable, but he can feel, think and everything. Now just imagine this being applied to someone with no synaptic nerve damage.” They continued their spiel talking of reanimation for the low, low price of only twelve thousand. The old man kept looking at the dead girl. She looked about eleven and wore a Gothic dress that seemed to scream out, death.
“We're glad you made the right decision! Now, we usually find it best to restrain the participant because they are typically still reacting to why they died.” Tom took out papers and equipment to start the procedure while Tara continued explaining the procedure.
The old man started to look increasingly worried. The fake grins of his business partners pretended not to notice. “I don't want her to know that she was dead.” Of course, Tom and Tara were just waiting for this. Of course they could always wipe her memory. Oh so genius, why hadn't they mentioned that. Err, but isn't that expensive. Oh gee, I guess it is. But golly, it sure does help keep those pesky secretes down, don't it?
It got tiresome thinking of what they were saying. Luckily their sales pitch was almost over. Life was breathed into the little girl like French kissing the grim reaper. Or was she old enough to do such a thing?
The old man seemed to think so. When they were about to take away the restraints, he asked to keep them, and for a price, he did. The little girl, to surprised and confused (and dazed) to be kicking and screaming, was taken to the old man's basement where he proceeded to fuck his next of kin. Feeling that the power of her youth could somehow stream into his body. But no, three days later he was found dead of a heart attack next to a naked screaming eleven-year-old. When the police asked her about the incident, she couldn't say a single thing. Not such an innocent, frightened little girl.
In the office of Tom and Tara, my glass coffin was beginning to smell. Even with their knowledge of taxidermy, the business partners didn't know enough to keep a body purely preserved. They discussed how long they could use me as their example and showcase. Not long. They need a new example.
Tom receded to his fake life of the family man Jerry Steinbeck. Once again, becoming the salesman of cable packages. Tara went back to her charade as Malissa the club owner.
The next day, the customer is kept waiting. The customer is not disparate. She's a patient woman, or will have to be seeing as she'll be dead in less than five minutes. Every last bubble floating to the surface. The water filling her lungs; a hug from the formless womb. Going out with eyes wide open, staring at the walls, the ceiling, the enormous collection of clocks.
Tom and Tara got there late. Hauling their sample of their work, along with them even if nothing needed showing. I was a just-in-case in the see-though case.
4:54 exactly. Every clock on every wall said so. The maple clock, the oak clock, the LCD clock... Each clock synchronized. A fetish. Plain white walls, cluttered with the time.
They left me in the living room next to the front door. One of the customer's cats leaped onto my my casket, sniffing it and hunting. The other was with it's owner. The sleeping beauty with a broken stopwatch on the floor. She wanted to time her experience while dead, but as she fell into that terminal breath, she hadn't the strength to hod the watch. Her last waking moments were spent in fear that she would never know the value of her experience measured in seconds.
Tom reached is hand in the tub and pulled out the woman. Water spilled everywhere, but that was of no consequence. They revived her; a new born in a frightening new world. Cold, wet, and unprotected. As the baby squirmed about, trying to make sense of its new environment, Tara cut its synaptic nerves and that's all that was needed. They needed me no longer.
The woman's CAT scan showed that she had full brain activity but with damaged synaptic nerves. All I can say is I almost feel that she's lucky. I feel like having known things about her life means that she had a life before her vegetable state. I never had a life, I've always been like this. Now, all I have left is to await my second death. Finally, in this dumpster of human wast, my body no longer matters and I can exist in mind only. Until I die. Again.
“We're glad you made the right decision! Now, we usually find it best to restrain the participant because they are typically still reacting to why they died.” Tom took out papers and equipment to start the procedure while Tara continued explaining the procedure.
The old man started to look increasingly worried. The fake grins of his business partners pretended not to notice. “I don't want her to know that she was dead.” Of course, Tom and Tara were just waiting for this. Of course they could always wipe her memory. Oh so genius, why hadn't they mentioned that. Err, but isn't that expensive. Oh gee, I guess it is. But golly, it sure does help keep those pesky secretes down, don't it?
It got tiresome thinking of what they were saying. Luckily their sales pitch was almost over. Life was breathed into the little girl like French kissing the grim reaper. Or was she old enough to do such a thing?
The old man seemed to think so. When they were about to take away the restraints, he asked to keep them, and for a price, he did. The little girl, to surprised and confused (and dazed) to be kicking and screaming, was taken to the old man's basement where he proceeded to fuck his next of kin. Feeling that the power of her youth could somehow stream into his body. But no, three days later he was found dead of a heart attack next to a naked screaming eleven-year-old. When the police asked her about the incident, she couldn't say a single thing. Not such an innocent, frightened little girl.
In the office of Tom and Tara, my glass coffin was beginning to smell. Even with their knowledge of taxidermy, the business partners didn't know enough to keep a body purely preserved. They discussed how long they could use me as their example and showcase. Not long. They need a new example.
Tom receded to his fake life of the family man Jerry Steinbeck. Once again, becoming the salesman of cable packages. Tara went back to her charade as Malissa the club owner.
The next day, the customer is kept waiting. The customer is not disparate. She's a patient woman, or will have to be seeing as she'll be dead in less than five minutes. Every last bubble floating to the surface. The water filling her lungs; a hug from the formless womb. Going out with eyes wide open, staring at the walls, the ceiling, the enormous collection of clocks.
Tom and Tara got there late. Hauling their sample of their work, along with them even if nothing needed showing. I was a just-in-case in the see-though case.
4:54 exactly. Every clock on every wall said so. The maple clock, the oak clock, the LCD clock... Each clock synchronized. A fetish. Plain white walls, cluttered with the time.
They left me in the living room next to the front door. One of the customer's cats leaped onto my my casket, sniffing it and hunting. The other was with it's owner. The sleeping beauty with a broken stopwatch on the floor. She wanted to time her experience while dead, but as she fell into that terminal breath, she hadn't the strength to hod the watch. Her last waking moments were spent in fear that she would never know the value of her experience measured in seconds.
Tom reached is hand in the tub and pulled out the woman. Water spilled everywhere, but that was of no consequence. They revived her; a new born in a frightening new world. Cold, wet, and unprotected. As the baby squirmed about, trying to make sense of its new environment, Tara cut its synaptic nerves and that's all that was needed. They needed me no longer.
The woman's CAT scan showed that she had full brain activity but with damaged synaptic nerves. All I can say is I almost feel that she's lucky. I feel like having known things about her life means that she had a life before her vegetable state. I never had a life, I've always been like this. Now, all I have left is to await my second death. Finally, in this dumpster of human wast, my body no longer matters and I can exist in mind only. Until I die. Again.