Two corpses sit side by side punctuating the silence with daggers of speech.
One turns to the other and moans.
The other moans back.
It echoes into cacophony.
They're moving through space too quick.
The other says:
"I want to die."
The one replies:
"You already did."
The other looks down at the flesh rotting from it's arm and it reminded of
slow-cooked
ribs.
Meat slides off of bone.
It's hungry. The white looks like pearls.
They're moving through space too quick.
The flies can't catch up until they run outta gas.
Sometimes, if ribs are cooked well enough,
you don't even
need a knife
to eat 'em.
"If we're dead,"
said the other,
"how do you figure we're speaking?"
"I wish you'd stop saying dumb shit,"
the one replied.
A beat.
"You're tongue's still alive. It's your heart that's brown, soft, putrid and dead as dung."
A beat.
"So how long you been dead then?"
asked the other.
"Longer than you," said the one.
The fuel light is on.