Die a Little

Cover Die a Little
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Genres: Fiction
A big blossom, dark and blooming.
If I don't focus, don't squint, I can pretend it's a flower and not a hole, a gaping cavity.
"It's going to be hard to tell," he says. "But try your best." He reaches his hand out, summoning me over with lowered eyes.
"She was a mess even before," the attendant notes, tilting his head. "Her skin ..." I touch my fingertips to my mouth as I walk over. I wonder if there's any way at all that I will be able to look long enough to tell.
"There's no ..." What I want
...to say is that there's no face there.
There's nothing there at all. But I can't quite get the words out.
Instead, I just stare down into the shiny, blackened pit before me.
"You want to focus on the rest of her," Cudahy says quietly. "Body size, shape. The places you remember scars." I look at the stippled body, I look at its pocks and wounds. I look-- knowing this will be it for me--at the hands. Lois's stubby little hands, her doll fingers with her strangely square fingertips. They're there, right in front of me.
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