entirely new kind of life.
I think about simply losing my parents forever, once the only choice. Then I think of them undead. And I think of Guru Yamaâs wife, grotesque and alien, death itself personified as a gigantic, corpulent infant, crooning to itself and eating a single marigold as I struggled to understand whether its painfully corrupted form caused it pain. I think of it screaming in an oven.
I see myself, pen hovering over the forms, not knowing which box to check.
Who am I to deny someone I love a second life, however incomprehensible, however different from the first? And then, with both relief and panic, I realize itâs not even my choice, but my parentsâ. One day, Iâll have to have a conversation with them about whether or not they want to risk becoming a fucking zombie. I havenât asked yet.
And one day, when I have a childâif I have a childâIâll have to have that conversation again, when they ask me.
When these thoughts creep into those evening conversations with my parents, tinting them with dread, I think of two corpses shambling up a snow-clad mountain in Switzerland, their flesh preserved in a fur of frost that glitters under a high, clear sun, their thoughts unfathomable.
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Copyright © 2016 by Indrapramit Das
Art copyright © 2016 by Keren Katz