Into the Embalming Machine—Serena Jayne

we go, bodies, so many bodies positioned on the conveyer belt toes to head, toes to head, toes to head, and we’re naked, paralyzed, stuck staring at the water-stained ceiling of the death factory, awaiting a fluid exchange, because the vampires crave our blood and the ghouls long to ride our flesh and the corporations must sell preservatives for the embalming fluid to keep the economy ticking away, but when did the monsters take over, you ask, how did you end up with your toes brushing one of our heads and one of our heads brushing your toes, well it happened while you kept ticking away with the rest of us, not realizing that the woman with the wind-blown, rainbow hair in front of us at the gas station hid fangs behind a tight-lipped smile and the gorgeous guy we matched with on Hinge, the one with the opera obsession and the serial killer eyes, was nothing more than a reanimated corpse and the politician who snuck in a rider to a benign bill that stole the rights to our bodies sat on the board of directors of the company that owns this death factory where we are nothing but commodities used to keep the system tick tick ticking away

Born under the sun sign of Leo, Serena Jayne is naturally a cat person. Her short fiction has appeared in The ArcanistDaily Science FictionNew Flash Fiction ReviewShotgun HoneySpace and Time Magazine, and other publications. Her short story collection, Necessary Evils, was published by Unnerving Books. She tweets @SJ_Writer.

photo by Kristina Nor (via pexels)