ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM
                        
***BIO*** Kendra Grant Malone was born and raised in Golden Valley, Minnesota. She is a writer and filmmaker now working in New York for a reality TV production company. She has recently discovered it is true, you cannot take the Midwest out of the Girl. She has a website at: http://kendralovely.blogspot.com/
2007 zygoteinmycoffee Ink.
Home
Submit
The Process
by Kendra Grant Malone
As the process begins, she is entirely alive. She has taken as small does of painkillers (5mg of Oxycodone), and is gingerly sipping a Budweiser tall boy to relieve herself of some of the pain involved in said process. She is decomposing.

It begins with small lesions on her ankles and the top of her feet. It appears as though she was thoroughly attacked by mosquitoes and gnats.
It is a small red speckling of blood blisters and cuts that itch incessantly. As she itches, itches, itches her precious little wounds, she notices her skin begin to flake off. Alarmed, she applies lotion to the source. The lotion only aids the process. As the next wave of itching sets in and she proceeds to scratch the affected area, larger more chunk-like pieces of her skin become unhinged from her body. The small sense of euphoria she receives from the scratching pushes her on past the ghastly image of skin caught under her weak, bendy fingernails. Soon small canals of raw flesh, pink and oozing start to emerge. She scratches deeper. Blood blister pop, leaving what surface skin is still intact, stained an orange-red. The color of the blood, she notices, is not of a healthy person. It is red with a sallow tinge of copper. To momentarily stop the endorphin led hysteria of scratching, she takes her can of Budweiser and rolls it over her ankles and feet, letting it linger on the bottoms of the arch of her feet, which are afflicted but to ticklish to scratch. She closes her eyes and takes a shallow breath.

Her throat is swollen. Regardless, she had spicy pad thai for lunch and French fries for dinner. She has become so used to this often swollen state of her throat, that she refuses to starve herself on a fast of applesauce and yogurt. With every swallow of food, her eyes well up, leaving her eyelashes matted and thick. The individual lashes stick together, forming little black triangles around her eyes. This in cohesion with her glossy-eyed post scratching trance make her appear to be more of a rag doll than a woman. She coughs violently, causing her mouth to taste like pennies. Blood swims around her gums, in and out of the gap in her front teeth. She is thankful for the painkillers.

Migraines have been haunting her for days. Today, she is growing accustomed to the faint high-pitched whine that is ringing constantly in her ears. Today, it does not bother her. She cracks her neck with both hands, making a succession of pops each way she twists. She is awarded with shudders from the people around her and ghastly looks from old women. Inspired by another small endorphin rush, she continues on to crack all of her fingers and toes, her wrists and hipbones. If she pushes and at an accurate speed, she can make the cartilage in her nose pop as well.

She is nauseous, for many reasons. From the headache, the dizziness, the hot and cold waves that give her goose bumps, but most of all, from all the mucus and blood she swallows because she is tired of spitting. She is not only tired, but her inflamed throat is soothed by the mucus as it slides down her throat. She has to vomit. Sometimes blood, sometimes bile, sometimes (rarely, in fact) whatever she has just recently eaten. Often she just heaves, crumpled on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, resting her soft cheek on the toilet seat.

Deep inside her nasal cavities it is very dry. It is chapped and there is no way to ward it off. She has accepted this and really, can't even remember what it felt like when it was lubricated and healthy.

She scratches the crown of her head. She notices as she scratches her fingernails once again, dig deep into her flesh, quite easily. Once again inspired by her fetid condition, she reaches in, up and under her flesh and pulls it from her head. It peels from the meat on her face. She continues a downward pulling motion until she has relived herself of the confinement of her withering flesh. She gases down at her stick sinewy body and is surprised at the amount of fat she carries. Her breasts retain their shape, oddly, and the nipple stays adhered. She can see the veins and branches of tissue that makes them more than just fat. The tissue that makes them more like organs. She is impressed with how firm they still are. She giggles. The meat on her legs has an odd color. It is brown and looks to be quite dried out. She pulls off chunks. Maggots lie underneath, eating what's left of the healthy meat on her calves. Some of the fat on her body is not a milky off white, but instead an olivey-yellow. She decides to remove that as well. She goes to a scale. She has removed 43% of her body weight. And again, she is thankful for the painkillers.

She leaves a viscous trail from the scale to her bed. She is feeling weakened.

She lies on her bed and notices larger vicious pools with a slight green coloring are collecting near her oraphaces. Her thoughts are becoming distant. She drinks her Budweiser. She smiles and turns on talk radio. As she grabs the knob to turn up the volume, three of her fingers fall off. She holds very still. She was not aware that this would lead to loosing limbs. She is fond of her limbs, and would like to keep them if possible. Unfortunately, this is not possible. As she rolls back onto her bed, her left ankle releases from her leg. It lies there at the end of the bed, just looking at her.

She is a bit sad, she always liked that foot.

She retrieves another Budweiser from the kitchen. On the way to the fridge and back she lost another foot, two more fingers, an entire hand, an ass cheek, and most of her teeth.

She lies again in bed, struggling to raise her Budweiser to her mouth.
Somehow, she does quite remarkably well. She finishes her beer quickly. Her body is beginning to feel more and more fluid. Her fat continues to melt and her muscles continue to dry up and fall off. She takes a deep breath and both of her lungs collapse.

She sets down her beer can and is thankful for the painkillers.
Oct. 2007
97