I Am A Skeleton

I am a skeleton. I have no skin, no organs, no soul, no mind. Next to me lies a beautiful woman. She’s the kind of woman that you see in ancient Greek art⁠—the kind of woman you see right before you die. She lays her gentle hand on my exposed sternum and leans in. Her soft lips press again the teeth rooted into my exposed skull. Not having skin makes hers feel twice as soft. We both lean in more intently this time. My skeleton hands wrap around the back of her neck and head, bringing her closer. As she lays astride me, I feel less like a skeleton. Her warmth fills my body like organs and layers on me like new skin. I can even feel blood pumping, even if just through my bone marrow. Neither of us have any intention of pulling away until one of the cracks in my decayed eye socket pinches her eyelid. “Ouch,” “Hold still.” As we gently wriggle, the hungry fractures in my skull multiply, taking larger and larger bites of her skin. Her nose becomes trapped in the cavity where mine once was, and her cheeks slip between the plates in my face which had drifted just enough to let her in. The gaps in my teeth hold tightly to her lips. Both of us squirm until I realize that her face has melted onto mine like gum onto hot concrete. Our mandibles are hermetically sealed such that neither of us can scream until my hard, dry teeth swing down like a guillotine on her soft tongue. Our faces peel away and both of us scream.

I jerk awake in the middle of the night, and my girlfriend half-opens her eyes.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just had a nightmare:

“Oh no, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just a nightmare”

“What was it about?”

“There were these clowns chasing me.”

She leaned into me and pulled the covers up higher. “How come you never dream about me?”