Death truly becomes some people. My wife died about five days ago but she hasn't left me yet. She moves stiffly, joints not working like they had when her blood still ran but she never lets it hinder her from living her best lift. She was always a trooper like that. It's enough that sometimes I forget she ever died at all.
Even the maggots that fell from her mouth as she tossed her head and laughed were more like confetti or fireflies fluttering around her beautiful rotting visage, lured in just as I still was. Moths drawn to the dying flame that had once been the love of my life.
I don't know what she is any more. I still love her, she's still the same person I think but she should be dead and any time I try to broach the subject she just laughs and tells me she's the same as she's always been and it must have been a bad dream.
The maggots writhing beneath her skin and the flies crawling in and out of her ears tell a different story.
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