She disappeared piece by piece over time. We ate bits of her for breakfast, lunch, supper and the occasional snack. She didn't mind...as long as we were happy. The only thing that would have enhanced the taste was a scream of pain or a few tears of regret.
The roll call came out of the blue. Mentally deducting sins from acts of altruistic goodness, we assembled for judgement. Would context come into the equation? Would my acts of childhood malice and youthful menace count? We jostled and elbowed our way to the back of the queue. Those with money strode smugly to the front.
She lived close to heaven, wild with silence and dead with life. Every night while cats called and courted, she hosted feasts for the granite Gods, buying brownie points and investment bonds with a cold cold heart. No one can see her, but no one can see past her. She became a ghost well before she died.
I drew first breath as my head hit the ground. The phrenology book told me the lumps guaranteed a long hard road. My fellow passengers ignored the blood, my cries and the message I'd come to deliver. I knew if only I could get to the water I'd be home and dry. A lifetime later I'm still wet and home is within sight.
The band sang acapella providing their own rhythm and blues. Dancing was awkward, ungainly and a little melancholy. She overlooked the fact that he was dead but how could she forgive his desertion? His bones offered some comfort, even more when she boiled them up for soup.