Dead Inside

by Chandler Morrison

Cannibalism really isn’t my thing, but there’s nothing wrong with getting a little kinky now and again.

We are who we are, just as anyone else is. How we got that way isn’t anyone’s business, least of all our own.

How could anyone want to strip bare before another human being, opening himself up to the very real possibility of endless judgment, spoken or otherwise?

My heart was racing so fast I feared it might charge up my throat and burst out of my mouth, only to die pitifully on the bed next to her.

It also stands to be said that fucking a corpse in a coffin provides for a morbid eroticism that is absolutely to die for. Yes, that pun was wholly intended, and yes, I do find myself amusing. The audience doesn’t get it, but that’s what laugh tracks are for.

Other people have favorite foods, like pizza or apple pie or something, and mine is fucking aborted fetuses, for Christ’s sake.” I shrug. “Other people watch porn, but I jack off to Night of the Living Dead.”

Emotions gross me out, especially when they’re visible.

I’m relating to another human being. Hold the phone and shoot me in the fucking face.

She does eat babies, though. She’s got that going for her, at the very least.