BEFORE YOU MELT INTO THE SEA

Here is the chamber where I’ll place your body. You’ll float in a solution of water and potassium hydroxide at a temperature of three hundred and fifty degrees. Your skin will flake like ash and the tendons inside your hands with which you messaged me over the years will unravel to the width of spider silk until everything is completely gone. You first came to Eden Ice before you were truly sick, before the cancer the plague left in your brain forced the doctors to put you to sleep. My company provides artistic alternatives to burial and cremation, one of the many “new death” companies that became popular after the plague, as people died from the chronic illnesses that remained in their bodies.

In our introductory video chat, you asked me to walk you through the process, told me you discovered us through a WeFuture ad and were impressed by the testimonials.

“We’re very proud of our customer service,” I said. “We have an A-plus from the Better Business Bureau and received a gold coffin award for Most Promising Funerary Start-Up of 2040 from FEEL: Funerary Enterprises, Entrepreneurs, and Lobbyists.”

“That’s very impressive,” you said. You were wearing a tank top, and I studied the murals on your arms as I described our state-of-the-art resomation chamber, which you called a human Crockpot. I gave you a video tour of the facility via my phone, all the ways I tried to carve a moment of beauty out of tragedy—a group of Disney princesses for two little girls; a pair of swans for an elderly couple found in their assisted living facility, holding each other.

“I just want to make sure that the ink is saved before you liquefy me,” you