The Human Corpse

Written November 1998

A corpse is abhorrent in every way. It becomes more so until, eventually, it is nothing but bone. After somatic death, it is a lifeless mannequin- completely still and unliving, yet far more lifelike than anything artificially made. It is flesh, and has been living flesh, and will continue to be dead flesh until the flesh exists no longer. Shortly after somatic death, the body becomes cold and rigid, yet still realistic in every detail, because it once lived. The stench also begins to set in. It is the stench of bacteria eating away at the no-longer-wanted, now-surplus flesh. It is the flesh breaking down and returning to the earth, returning to the elements it came from, as all dead things do, which is in theory a beautiful thing. Yet in actuality, to the senses, the smell is repulsive, and as the corpse decays further, the more revolting it becomes. The delicate hands of what was once a woman become twisted, cracking claws, the stomach becomes a bowl of stench and flies and black fluid, and the face is a leering mask- whether twisted in the pain of death, made up into a serene look of peace, or smiling- it is a still mask of flesh, yet it once lived.

As the body putrefies, it becomes less of a memorial to the person who lived and more a mockery- an imitation that was once a real, a hideously realistic and grossly altered parody of a human- it is an insult and an abomination to all living.

Yet whether the corpse is the remains of the Temple of the Soul, the soul having departed, or a slumbering and decaying human, or simply a creature whose life functions have ceased and is now being broken down by bacteria, it is the absolute and inescapable fate of everything that lives to die, and of everything that dies to decay.