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Under the Soil

Under The Hill


how I missed my duvet wrapped around my body and yet I no longer felt the chilly breeze around the edges of my coffin. All I knew was that it was 2022 and that it had been snowing. That was only because I had heard the local farm children’s high-pitched squeals of pleasure as they vibrated down my hill. I had wanted to laugh back but like many freshly buried people, parts of my cadaver had ceased working. People say that the dead can’t feel a thing but I can assure you they can.


I can feel my protruding bones jaunting out a little more each day; a toe dropping off or the feeling of acid pouring out from all my orifices. Funnily enough, it was a little bit how my fat thighs used to feel when they would rub together on a hot summer's day. I had always wanted to feel stick-thin and now I longed for my old fat body back.


I hoped that once my body had decomposed, I would still be able to think clearly, even though my thoughts felt foggier by the day. I no longer craved, food water, or even love. To hear the blackbirds in the morning and the owls at night was enough. And yet, I still hoped for a future.

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