THE CADAVER

I imagined death to be peaceful. Maybe if I was buried, or burnt, it would have been. But the guilt of not doing something good with my life made this decision for me. To do something with my death. But little did I know that death doesn’t take senses, it only took the response. The sights, sounds, smell, pain, everything was still there. But it was too late. They changed me into a mere model of human anatomy.  Lying in a hall naked was my biggest problem until the dissection started. Then the pain began. I was ripped one muscle at a time. Amidst the pain of my joints being separated one at a time, I could still hear the talks, the laughter and still see their curious eyes as they cut me open. The smell of formaline masked the smell of my own flesh rotting. They cut my heart off, but I had run out of tears to shed. I felt my memories go away part by part as they cut off my brain, piece by piece. And in the end, I didn’t feel the pain, I didn't feel guilt, nor sorrow. I didn't miss life. All I felt was contempt. This, is my salvation.