She was now forced to contemplate what she had become, a monstrous outgrowth of scientific thought. It was pointless to suggest that the changes were positive; she was too stubborn. She was destined to become a bitter old hag, clinging to anyone that would listen to her reminisce about a time when scientific thought championed over the entire world. I initially felt overjoyed that I finally had control but soon  realized I could not stand it; I resented her weakness. I snickered at her helplessness, her pathetic gestures; her indifference, and <A HREF = "cocoon.html"> lack of empathy</A> toward me, were gone. I cruelly, incessantly spoke of all the possibilities for our new world, one devoid of science and one in which new life forms might develop from the primordial swamp that covered our planet. I told myself I wanted to be generous and compassionate but instead criticized her relentlessly, making small insidious comments that cumulatively were unbearable for her. I stole all of her strength to fight the cancer she had developed within the past year, encouraging it to eat away at her already pathetic body.<br> 
Her death would free me, untie me from her parasitic, groping, unsatiable neediness. This was my initial reasoning as to why I could not stifle my horrible behavior, but I realized I desperately wanted an excuse not to function, to be so guilt ridden that I would not have to continue with my own life. I fantasized about being buried on top of her. Still intact, the formaldehyde would keep her from rotting too much. I would be thrown over her, so we could slowly rot into each other, her first as always.