Leiche (Corpse)

Leiche

By Kate Young

           

They are crawling on me again.  The slimy slithering worms and those bugs that snip and bite and carry little pieces of me away, how I detest them, and how I loath those who have done this to me.  The bugs, how they devour and enjoy in the play of my decaying flesh, the annoying little pest that come in a seemingly never-ending parade.

   I would scream, but I fear no one would hear me.  As I am certain that, no one gathers to listen.  They have left me here to rot, for I do not know how long.  The cold heartless ones who shed false tears as I called out to them to help me, they walked by, slowly one by one, their swollen eyes saying their dispassionate good-byes.

            Then they left.  The darkness crept in on me.  Now, I lay in that darkness so very alone.  Alone except for the bugs that feast on the buffet that is my being.  How long must I endure.  I cry-out now, and as I expected, no one hears me.  I call to the angels but they do not reply.  I recall the phrase "To judge the living and the dead."  And wonder if I am to lay here in this pit until He arrives.

   They are feasting on my eyes and are burrowing into my ears.  I can see a hint of them.  Their long legs dig into my pupil, penetrating the delicate lining.  The slithering within my ears is deafening now.  What is to become of my once my flesh has been eaten away, I wonder?

              I watch the critter as it carries away the yielding white of my eyes.  The darkness deepens.  A revelation occurs to me, one I thought impossible.  Is this my cruel fate, I shall lay here very blind as they continue to feast.  I defy the satire; nothing could be as villainous as this.

            Kill me-kill me I call out, but I am already dead.  I wallow as the last of my sight quickly diminishes.  How utterly malevolent I assert, in my blind grave.  More come, like a horde to canvass my body.  Are these the angels coming to carry me away, piece by piece?

I am going insane I tell you.  This fate, this death, this after-life, it is far barbarous than any hell I know of.  They come, more, I can feel them, and I am powerless against them.  How dare those who claim to love me do such a thing?  How dare they pray over my grave for a peaceful sleep?  There is no rest in this box.  There is no peace as the creatures they come, unyielding and merciless.