The corpse was soft and purpled, black on the bottom and seeping outward in a slow puddled creep. There was movement in his face, and Anna prepared for Christopher’s corpse to do as his ghost had done, to animate, reach for her, rage fueled, but then maggots crawled from his decaying lips, other insects following, and she realized what the confetti feeling all over her had been. Flies. On her eyes, in her nostrils, darting in and out of her mouth.
