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He once read a book about dead bodies when he was younger.
The book was about the various things the bodies of the dead have helped the living learn, such as giving surgeons the ability to practice their skills or being used as crash test dummies to see how much the human body can withstand. It might have been a weird choice to read but it was interesting nonetheless.
The chapter that stuck out in his mind was about the decay of the human body. People would stick cadavers out in the sun and observe the changes they went through. It was supposed to be a way to help pinpoint better when a body died for police investigations.
First your body would go through algor mortis. The body would cool about 1.5 degrees Fahrenheit per hour until the body was the same temperature of the air around them. Rigor mortis would start a few hours afterwards, the stiffening of joints and muscles starting in the head and neck before moving downwards, finishing and disappearing somewhere between 10 to 48 hours after death.
Autolysis was when the body first started to decay. Enzymes in your cells began eating through cell structures, which let the liquid inside leak out. The liquid loosened the layers of skin and caused them to be able to peel off and the bacteria in your body would go to town on the liquids, causing the body to bloat with all the gas they produce in the process. Your eyes are spared from the bloat only as all of the liquid would be leached out before it could reach that point, simply being “gone” instead. All of this would typically last a week or so.
The last stage was the longest in putrefaction and decay. Putrefaction was the liquefaction of your tissue because of the bacteria. Your digestive organs and lungs would go first followed by your brain, but eventually your organs melted together into a soup. Muscle, fat, and skin would be eaten away by bacteria and bugs alike until all that was left was your skeleton.
It was a strange thing to think about, your body slowly unraveling until there was nothing left. But with everything that had happened to him, he found himself thinking about it much more often.
If he stayed dead the day he died, his body probably would have completely decayed by now. Maybe he could have become one of those teens that show up on those true crime investigative shows he saw his grandmother watch, disappearing for ages before their bodies showed up buried in some ditch by the side of the road. If he was fully gone by then, at least his parents wouldn’t have had to see the melted, half eaten remains that used to be him. If he was only bones sure they probably wouldn’t be able to find the time of his death, but it might have been easier for his parents to stomach seeing what was once their son.
Wouldn’t it have been so much easier that way? Wouldn’t it have been easier for him to simply die versus living the life he was now? Could he even call it a life? Could he even say he was living?
Normally when a person is killed, they cease to be. Their future is ripped away from them as their body rots. Mourning might occur, but eventually the world moved on and you were forgotten. That was it. That was how things were supposed to be.
His heart didn’t beat like a living person. His body was always cold, regardless of how many times he tried in the past to layer clothing onto himself in some attempt to warm up. Whenever he looked into the mirror, the light blue eyes that stared back looked dull and lifeless. But he could still feel pain. He felt the pain in his eyes, hands, and jaw when he went too long without eating. He knew the way his body and mind ached after someone took control of both for him.
He was killed, but he didn’t cease to be. His future was ripped away from his hands, but his body remained. He didn’t know if he was mourned and he didn’t know if he wanted to. He was still here, living this cursed existence.
It may not have even been that bad if he had only died and came back to life, no strings attached. But he didn’t. His autonomy had almost died with him, hanging on by a single thread these last few years until he had the chance to reclaim it for himself. His life was controlled by his new found hunger. His life was controlled by the fear of losing himself. And it would be his way until he died.
Could he even die of old age anymore? He knew it was possible for people like him to die slowly from injuries, so he could maybe go out that way. He hoped he could. It would be so nice to settle his past before finding some place to end it all. It could be like the movies, where a dying character gets to see the sunset or the stars before they go. It sounded nice.
Maybe then he would finally be able to fall apart like he was supposed to. Wouldn’t that be nice?