Plastic Wrapped Bodies

Saad Hasib

Contains themes of death.
Reader discretion is advised.

I think about death a lot.
I think about what will happen after I die.
No, not about me, I’m not that self-centered.
I think about my potted plants,
My clothes are still left to dry,
Oh, no is it going to rain, I’d have to dry them again—oh wait I’m dead.
I think about my room
I imagine this 4 walled box, high ceilings, single window, a broken mirror
Which sits all day and collects dust.
It’s not like I could ever bring myself to clean it.

Plastic Wrapped Bodies - Illustration for Saad

I hoard a lot of trash, mostly plastic toys and blurry polaroids.
Fragments of some distant memories I didn’t know I had like-
A photo of me and my best friend, from when we were 6
A plastic car, my first hot wheel.
A broken comb, my mother used to do my hair.
I think I left the gas on.
Oh, no who’ll feed the cat
But wait, I don’t have a cat
But who’ll feed the stray that lives in a cardboard box right behind my apartment?

I know.
I know I overthink, the aftermath of bad decisions I subconsciously take.
The truth is I don’t know what happens after I die.
Do I get buried beside my aunt?
Or maybe they never find my body.
Do they throw away my clothes,
Or do they give them away
Does my pillowcase still smell like me
My bedsheet still tucked, my bed empty
I know the earth will swallow me whole, my bones will feed the trees.
And I feel comfort in knowing I won’t ever be found again.

Where am I?
What do I become?
Do you remember me?
Please remember me.