"Remains" by Angie Li

I am a cadaver. I have been picked and prodded, gutted and dissected, stripped down to the point where I no longer resemble anything human. Now I am nothing more than flesh, bone, and decay. I made this choice—to give my body for the betterment of science. And what do I get? Mutilation beyond recognition. Wait. I feel something. A drop of liquid lands on my hand. Then another. I sense the wetness of tears seeping into my lifeless skin, trickling down the naked arteries and tendons of my arm. There is a presence beside me, a warmth pressing against my cold, dissected form. A hand—soft, alive—touches mine. There is gentleness in the grip, a quiet sadness in the way it lingers. “Don’t be sad,” I think, though no one can hear me. I am dead. But I am not gone. I have so much to say, so much to teach, so much to give. “Just look inside me,” I plead, “and you will find all the answers. Look inside me and touch the remnants of my life.”