another excerpt from a story i’m not writing…
That was the horrid thing, the impossible thing.
I’ve been scraping up human remains for over twenty years. Murder rate got high enough, nobody even pretended to care who the victims were anymore. Someone reports a friend or family member missing… maybe we’ll get told about it and make a half-assed effort to check the bodies we collect. Maybe we’ll just chuck ’em in the truck and take ’em to the ovens. The latter’s much more likely. In the end it comes down to nobody being paid enough to give a shit.
So believe me when I tell you, I know corpses, and there’s no way on God’s green earth this guy should’ve moved. He’d been dragged behind a car for over twenty miles – let me make this clear for you; over half his body wasn’t there anymore. Period. End of fucking statement. Take any half of your body, get rid of it.
Now live through that.
Does. Not. Happen.
But he moved.
And that’s when I realized everything had changed.”
listening to: my stomach rumble – time for supper
mood: rather silly, actually