The Coffin

The glass coffin arrived on wheels.

It was beautiful and terrifying. A hollowed out crystal.

The Amazons rolled it into the cage.

Art stood up. He pulled Becca with him.

She was unsteady. Her legs were jelly.

-Get in, Art said.

He stepped over the rim first, laying into the coffin.

-Come to me.

Becca climbed in. She straddled him.

It was a tight fit. The walls squeezed them together. There was no escape.

The Thin Woman stepped into the cage. She carried a tray.

On it lay two long, clear tubes. And rolls of shimmering, translucent gauze.

-The lungs, the doctor said.

She leaned over the coffin. She inserted a tube into Art's nostril. Then Becca's.

Becca gagged.

-Breathe, the thin woman commanded.

The tubes trailed out of the coffin, hooked to a machine that wheezed.

Then came the gauze.

The Amazons took the rolls. They began to wind.

Around Art’s shoulders. Around Becca’s waist.

Binding them.

Layer after layer of translucent gauze.

It covered Becca’s back. It covered Art’s chest. It wrapped their arms, pressing them into each other.

Becca watched through the haze as her body disappeared.

-Tighter, Art mumbled. His voice was muffled.

The Amazons pulled. Becca’s ribs creaked. She was crushed against him. Her breasts flattened against his chest. Her hips ground into his.

They were a single organism now. A two-backed monster wrapped in silk.

The thin woman stepped back. She checked the seal.

-The vessel is prepared.

She walked to the control panel on the wall. She flipped a switch.

Valves opened at the base of the coffin.

Liquid poured in.

It was thick. Pink. Viscous. Warm.

It poured into the coffin.

Becca panicked as Art drove inside her.

She tried to thrash.

The gauze held them. The glass held them. Art held her.

The fluid rose.

It covered her ears, seeping in.

Becca Sunshine was gone.

There was only the fluid. And her body. And Art.