Her addiction to the flesh, probably not exempt from necrophilic significations, led her, after his passing, to keep his body in the confines of a Baroque coffin, which she conveniently situated in the middle of the living room.
Over the years, she joyfully witnessed, day in and day out, that his mortal remains maintained their integrity, in spite of the warmest summers on record, on account of climate change. She was happy to verify that his flesh had remained intact, until one cold, rainy day at around midnight, when something strange happened.
Someone knocked on the door, notwithstanding the fact that the stiff and she were the only ones left in Paris, after catastrophe had struck.
When she opened the door, incredibly so, he, of all people, proceeded to phase back in, appearing beautifully whole, underneath the threshold, grinning at her with that characteristic smile of his. This compelled her, of course, to take a quick glance back at the coffin in the living room in order to verify that she was not having visions. Indeed, the other’s inert body was still lying in his casket as it had been for all those years, ever since he had phased out, way back in the days. This was an incredible set of circumstances, she thought.
Needless to say, she was nevertheless happy to see him looking this good, all over again. His being alive and kicking, instead of simply existing in the form of dead meat, meant returning to bliss and veritable, concrete, good old-fashion sex.
On the other hand, the cadaver, lying there motionless, brought up otherwise, melancholic memories of the exotic delights and rarity of necrophilic, intimate relations, which, all of a sudden, made her realize that making love to his counterpart meant being unfaithful to the, so-called, defunct. I hope he doesn’t mind, she told herself. This ethical chimera evidently posed a dilemma that she would have to resolve right away.
While all these vertiginous thoughts were dizzily gyrating in her mind, the latest “version” proceeded to step inside the house, and moving her out of the way gently with his left hand, he went directly to check on his alterity, lying in the casket. After gazing at him for a brief moment and affectionately punching him in the chin--chucks! --he bent his head down and kissed his lips, which previously had been done rather badly by her in red lipstick.
Here, astonishingly so, the defuncts inert hand rose, and grabbing the other by the back of the neck, pushed him downward, forcing him to keep his lips locked onto his. Soon, she saw, to her amazement, and later, to her sheer horror, that it was not only the lips that were engaging passionately, but the whole of their faces, as well. Soon thereafter, their heads, and progressively their entire bodies slowly began to fuse until they became one. At that point, the resultant contaminated dissemination emerged walking toward her smiling and calmly asked what was for dinner… “Fish,” she managed to say and he proceeded to kiss her warmly on both cheeks.
(c) Rodrigo Palacios