MicroHorror

I get to watch myself decompose. That was the deal I made, and I’m happy it’s been granted. I’m sure others have made a similar deal, so I don’t know why my friends are appalled, but you should hear them.

“That’s disgusting, Andy!” “Why would you ever want to do that?” And so on.

Hey, it’s not like they’re saints, and what does it matter what you do once you’re in your coffin and buried? We get one shot so it should be something that matters to us, and who should judge what that is?

Manny has asked to witness his own funeral. He says he wants to gauge the grief in the room. It’s important to him, he says.

Wendy wants to feel what it’s like to do something malicious. She hasn’t decided what yet, but she’s working on it. Probably something with guns, she says.

Then there’s Carrie Ann who hopes to plunge a sharp object into the corpse of her cheating husband before she passes over. Revenge is sweet, they say.

And what about Emil’s deal? It involves an experiment with his stepsister’s eyes. What exactly he refuses to say, and nobody seems to want to learn more.

Oh, yes, and Jan is weighing two possible options. One involves sharks and the other potassium cyanide.

So what’s so demented about wanting to watch your own body molder? I’ve always been a curious person, and this is something I would never get to see if I didn’t make this choice. So am I being weird? I don’t think so. You can’t witness something like this if you don’t make it your final deal. After all, you’re dead, right? How else can you watch yourself decay if that’s what you want to do?

I strongly defended my choice and ultimately convinced my friends that my reasoning was sound. So we decided to avoid talking about the afterlife deals we made or planned to make and returned to our conversation about the virtues of cremation or lack thereof. We quickly concluded the answer to that one was obvious.