Billy Hindle

I had never been good with the freshly dead.

His eyes were open, glassy and staring.

The surrounding skin, shrunken by the heat, was pulled taut across bone like a shoddy taxidermy display.

The worst part was that he looked familiar.

Morkris was my hometown.

The house was sold and the parents were gone, but my memories still pocked the streets.

The streets that now burned from the horrible fire.

I wondered how many of those memories were left.

The public library, my favourite ice cream shop, the restaurants, the pie place, the school.

Had the corpse worked there?

Why couldn't I place his face?

What did that say about me?

Why couldn't I...

I stomped on the weathered rubber pedal by my feet.

There was a click and a whir as the overhead mics began to record.

I began to cut...

First, the shears.

Each article of clothing, one by one.

Trousers and undergarments came easily, but the shirt... The shirt was melted and fused to the flesh, so caked in ash that the simple Bigfoot and Comic Sans I Believe in You was hardly visible.

My fingers tore at both flesh and fabric as I pulled, so I gave it a rest.