Good Day or Night, Internet Surfer.

Favourite characters for some reason

I went to my Bugs Class today-- we're on the dead bugs unit right now-- and lately we've been comparing dead bugs to other dead things, to make sure we know the difference. We were looking at dead people today. Their faces are covered, and their skin is peeled back in some places so that we can know that their insides aren't like a bug's. Human cadavers look different than I thought they would. Yellowed skin, sinewy dried-up muscles, imperfectly preserved. They smell like formaldehyde. My one classmate-- you know the one, I won't say their name (I talk about them too much)-- was tasked with holding back the skin with gloved hands so we could look closer at the ribcage, learn how it differs from the thorax. Their hands are long and slender, and they had to take off all their rings to put on the surgical gloves. My heart was pounding as I watched them. I felt horribly ashamed, because the smell of the formaldehyde makes me feel hungry, which is disgusting, and sick. It made me feel sick. I couldn't hear what the professor was saying, I was just looking at Them, and I imagined what it might feel like to have their hands under my skin like that, examining my bones and deciding if I am a human underneath. I don't think I want them, romantically. I'm not even sure if I want them to be my friend. I think I want to be them. Maybe I want to have their skin over my flesh, maybe it would hold my disgusting viscera in a better shape. My mouth is filled with saliva, and I am horrible for wanting. I think if they put me on the table, and opened me up, it would be maggots underneath. I know, because I am rotten. I know, because I can feel them squirming.

He won't know that until he tries...