Dead
The police forced open a window. For the rest of the evening they used this to go in and out, except at the very end of the evening when they opened the door to let pass the blue metal lined coffin. They found him lying near the door. "He's cooked. His skin's gone black". Dead about two weeks, half eaten. "He's got no lips". A sheet over the Venetians, a swarm of flies as the blinds are raised. Books, guns on display . . . labelled "Magnum", "Assault" etc. "Remember that night there was a sound like a gunshot ?" "No ? . . ".
The joint was crawling with maggots and flies. His brain was
liquified, his still, stiff face crawling with shiny green and
blue-black flies. All quiet inside except for the buzzing of flies.
Beer bottles and cigarette butts like he'd battened down for
years against a blizzard of passing life, or raging time. He'd
become snowed in and couldn't be reached.
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