Posted by Barbanne on February 13, 1999 at 23:52:46:
I see down the board where there is interest in a new movie about a cadaver in the morgue.
Are you guys interested in cadavers????
Ooooow.
Female ones????????
Wow.
I have a story in which I visualised being such a cadaver.
And as I'm a female........well.
Here it is. If you've read it before....sorry.
ON BEING DEAD
By Barbanne.
Here I am, lying here on the floor of my bedroom, wearing only a crumpled nothingness nightie and I'm dead.
How did I get dead you ask?
Well, last evening I was having really great sex with this guy I picked up, well, actually he thinks he picked me up, and he was getting ready to fuck me for a second time and I had my nightie lifted and then the whole thing started getting a bit rough. Well I don't mind rough, quite like it actually, but in his enthusiasm and getting a bit frenzied for me, he knocked me backwards and I tripped anyway, clumsy girl that I am, on, of all things, my scrunched up panties. I went down and bashed my head on the side table. That didn't trouble me much, except I saw stars, and we fucked like crazy afterwards and I felt fab except for a headache. Then, properly rooted, both of us, we lay down to kip. Problem was I had a sub-dural haematoma. Well he woke up a bit later and I'm lying here and he thought I'm asleep and off he went. I got up feeling shithouse with my headache and thought I'd get an aspirin and fell down flat out on the floor.
See your dura, that's the membrane layers that enclose your brain, and a haematoma, that's when blood leaks into your tissues after an injury, like a bruise only a bit worse. Well I had this like giant bruise inside my head, and it caused swelling and so phutt, I went from a headache to unconscious and then dead.
So, here I am...............dead!
When you are dead, this is what happens to you, actually to me. I mean this is what happened to me now that I am lying here deceased.
After a very short time, I started to cool off and at the same time to undergo certain chemical changes. If I'd had my clothes on I'd have cooled at about two to five degrees every hour, but being nearly naked, I was cooling at about four to seven degrees every hour. By about twelve hours, I was going to feel cold. To anyone who touched me that is, me myself I wasn't feeling anything on account of I was deado! After about three hours, lividity was becoming evident on me as my blood was pooling in the lowest parts. (See it wasn't going round and round anymore so it was making purple patches on my back and bum and heels and things.)
About five hours into being dead, rigor mortis started in my face. Rigor mortis is caused by coagulation of protein in the muscles and results in a shortening of both the voluntary and involuntary muscles which stiffen and fix the limbs. That's why us deadies are called stiffs. It's also a certain sign of death. So as the stiffening started it was bye bye Barbanne, well it had been for a while, but if anyone doubted I was dead this proved it. No use trying resuscitation guys. This spread progressively from where it started in the face to my neck, shoulders, arms, trunk and legs. Trunk, that's a nice word for the part of my bod where the funzones are. I was getting rigid. In twelve hours I was about twenty five degrees celsius and pretty well as stiff as a board. In another twelve hours the rigor would start to disappear and in a further twenty four hours, two days after I died, I would start to go pinky purple and would be decomposing.
Yuk!
Not a pretty corpse then.
Twelve hours after I carked and when I was as stiff as a board my flat mate found me. She screeched and called for help and the medical examiner's people came. They looked me over and shoved thermometers in my ass and places and declared that I had died about twelve hours ago and that it looked like I had died from a blow to the head and they would take me downtown to the morgue and I would be autopsied to find out for sure what happened. They got me into a body bag, that wasn't my colour at all, and that was really difficult 'cause I didn't bend too easy, being rigid as a post, and they zipped me up in there and off I went on a gurney to the morgue. The old stiffo palace.
My flat mate had to come and formally identify me, "Yep that's Barb." and I got tagged on the toe to say 'One dead Barb'. Only in officialese.
Well, still in my body bag, I went into the freezer to wait until the pathologist got around to me.
That he eventually did and they wheeled me out, unzipped me and put me on a stainless steel table for examination. First up they photographed me and then they got my nightie off so that, there I was, stark naked and dead as a doornail and stretched out on a tin table with lights like searchlights shining on me.
They photographed me again before moving me. Now that I was naked like. Then they weighed me and examined me like minutely from an external point of view, peering at everything my poor bare corpse had to show. They scrutinised me from head to toe, back to front, lifting my arms and legs and examining inside my mouth and my other orifices, nice word for my ass, my cunny and my conk. They took samples of hair from my head, my pubics and my eyebrows and they swabbed my mouth, my asshole and my pussy. They took some fingernail scrapings and put all of these in little glass containers with Barb's ass, pussy, etc., written on them. Again of course in officialese.
What fun they had!
Now they set in to record my scars, my tatts, (don't have any) my birthmarks and any other little deformities they could find. They have this dinky little drawing of a naked girl's body, front and back and they use this to record all this stuff. Next they photograph and record (on the little girly outline) the extent and nature of my lividity and rigor mortis. All of this as well as my head wound is shown measured from my feet. Next they look for tiny Haemmorahges, known as petechiae, in my eyes which are like all starey and fixed by this time. These petechiae would indicate I had been strangled (my fav). As well they look for needle punctures and stuff like that. Of course gunshot wounds and stabbing holes would be pretty obvious. The trick with this pathology is not to miss anything.
My little picture being covered with all they can find and my bottles of samples being neatly labelled and stored aside, its time for the internal examination and here's where they are going to make a mess of my cute little body. They do what's called a Y incision from my two shoulder blades into my sternum and down to my crotch, with a little swerve to miss my umbilicus. This kind of messes me up and opens me up and separates the top third of each nice, yummy, titty from the bottom two thirds. Now they can spread me apart, after first cracking open my ribs with their beastly little stainless steel, jumbo, wire cutters and peer at my chest cavity and neck structure and contents and look for little give aways like a broken hyoid. Also they can check out the fluids in my lungs and my tummy contents..........my midnight snack.
Off next comes the top of my head so they can inspect my brain. Your noisy, very fast, very sharp bone saw manages this. With the top of my skull off the pathologist found what it was finished me off. Just to be safe though, they take more specimens. Skin, bone, blood, muscle, urine, brain, spinal cord and all my most common organs. The main organs are weighed just like the butcher weighing out some offal for you. The pathologist has recorded the whole autopsy on his little tape recorder and his assistant will now type it up.
Its all very thorough.
Findings: Barbanne is dead..........poor thing!
Last of all they put me all sort of together again and sew me up. This sewing wouldn't win prizes for ladies' sewing competitions. It looks rather like that sewing on cheap Chinese moccassins that you get in Woolies.
So here I am again, all chopped up and bits of me bottled and labelled and ready to be released for burial. Not that anyone will come for me. Nor care. Just the county grave diggers.
RIP Barbanne.