whole wide world
a rabbit moves into the street and is struck. a pigeon dies, and it’s body lays on the sidewalk for weeks. they are an odd collection, a strange attraction. mussed fur and feathers, ribs torn open, hot intestines seeping out onto smooth concrete.
they are an intrusion, a violation of this sleek-unlife called a city. their lungs teem with insects, and their decay springs out into flies. organic shaped hardened against unforgiving glass cut walls.
it is times like this when i feel like an intruder. i am mesmerised - how could i not be? the red that stains the gravel is brighter than any advertisement or neon sign. day after day, week after week, the bodies will lay there - untouched. parents will shake their heads as they walk past, scoffing about how someone should clean it up - it isn’t right for kids to see - but no one bothers to lift a finger.
i get to see it bloom, get to see it pass through all the stages of death - or of life. in the end, the bodies dry. they become brown husks, light enough to be blown away by the wind.
nature goes back to the enclosures we call parks. the city is stainless once more, and death goes back to being shoved behind closed hospital doors and alleyways.