Zombie Statue

On holiday in France, I visited a small church in Bar-le-Duc and saw a statue of a decomposing man with his hand raised high in a theatrical pose. In poor french, I asked somebody what this was and listed to the response nodding, but I only understood something about a prince and not much more.

Later that night, I was in a cafe and two French girls gave me some looks and smiles from across the room. I imagined myself taking both of them to my hotel room and making passionate love in my first ever threesome. But then I thought about myself naked and realized I was not something a woman desperately wanted to see, let alone two women, even if they were the best of friends.

I fantasized they would understand my wretched spirit and comfort me in my despair.

I imagined my body decomposing underneath my stylish clothes. So much effort put into matching colors just to hide a smelly swamp underneath. I imagined what it would be like to be a walking corpse trying to hide the terrifying truth from the rest of the world. Then, reaching to height of my pompous self-pity jamboree, I said to myself “I know what it is like!”

I sulked for the rest of the evening, making myself utterly unattractive to two French girls and burying my chances for a threesome.

Posted by: Paweł Kowaluk