cestandrea reblogged
After a day, birds came, foxes came, flies, butterflies, wasps came. Judd moved, Judd shifted, Judd gave birth. In his belly maggots warmed themselves, in a vixen's den the good flesh of his thigh was fought over. After that, it was quick. The bones yellowing, the bones crumbling: soon an empty space which he had once filled with breath and opinions. Darkness, light, darkness, light. He interrupted neither with his name.
“In the Hills, the Cities” by Clive Barker
