Excitement

[timpeltje]

We get excited; kill some plants, bugs and people on our way to the morgue. We rejoice when we find our dead one still dead. Last time, we saw a couple having sex there but still it didn’t cross our minds to label that as necrophilia (given that one of the sexual partners had died three years earlier when we killed him on our way to the morgue). In our world, labelling the obvious necessity of passion is not really accepted anyway. The only reason why we not spew out a man having sex with his pillow is because we accept the pillow as an irrational being. In our day, we have had sex with more humanlike creatures far less rational than a trustworthy pillow. In our eyes, this pillowphile (it’s the future, believe us!) is equally… hmm… – in Christian terms – sinful (though we do not believe in sin) than the rest of us; perhaps even more since we could still be given the benefit of the doubt.

Anyhow, today’s dead guy (we killed him only last Wednesday) smells like some three-month-old egg salad which is currently procreating itself in our fridge. The dead guy should be jealous of the egg salad’s procreation skills. He used to be a very handsome man; now we laugh cynically remarking that he has withered more in death than any of the far less fair creatures we have stumbled upon in our day. There is some cruel justice in that.

We will never lose the excitement of our daily toils; we remain happily convinced that we will never kill ourselves on our daily way to the morgue.