The thin coffin
And, as you tumble down the stairs, you think of the thin coffin
sitting in the shadows of the purple pig-footed couch and wonder if it
is sitting there just waiting to be discovered like a slimy toad under
a green moss-covered rock or if it is genuinely attempting to conceal
itself like a dirty rotten secret that is too horrible to ever fully
keep to itself. And, as you lay at the bottom of the stairs, you
wonder if you will have to surprise the thing in the coffin yourself
or if the thing will surprise you. You begin crawling to the couch,
your nose to the floor. You begin to catch a whiff of something
decayed like when the class hamster escaped and the class only found
it a week later when the wall next to the closet began to
smell.
