[[This grave is for someone who died today, put in a coffin without a song.|car]]

Untitled Story

Nothing’s quite as bad as the light and commotion going on when you are dying. I didn’t believe it at first. What a fool I am. Was. About to be, about to was. My legs are gone, my arms have died. I’m falling apart – next up’s my head. The face that I’m making and the face that was made are hideous, truly awful to look at. I will sing. The dirtiest songs, that I didn't even know I knew! Or bark. My god, maybe I’ll bark. A dirty band-aid and laughing clowns, a bird, some flowers, a tear or two. What a terrible [[death|death]].

I am dying. It was sudden; I can’t feel my toes or feel with my toes. Nothing else hurts, everything’s fine. My toes are gone, my toes are dead. My feet have died, too! My poor feet, oh how I’ll miss them. Why does no one see this – see me? A person without feet should stand out – haha! You’d think that, at least. Higher and higher, everything’s dying. My knee with the dimple – oh how I’ll miss it, my favourite knee. I am dying, there was an explosion. In my house there is a [[framed picture|framed picture]].

There was a woman. She had too many rings and smelled like the cottage she lived in. She came from a cold, dead country, where children creep and dogs freeze. I drove through bone-white hills, wore expensive trousers. Gorgeous calf leather. [[Not anymore|not anymore]]. That woman, she knew only a few words of English – all of them true – and geese flocked over us as I bought her car.

Anonymous

Wonder who's going to drive their car