Back to the water, hands in the earth, eyes averted from the floating faces that crested above the murk of the canal.
They had risen overnight, appearing in the dawn as the sun’s halo rose over the pristine walls of the city.
He recognised them and knew their faces well despite the distended bloat that had swelled around their glassy countenances,
their eyes - ever watching - were empty punctures in the heads of the ballooned cadavers.
In the middle of the night he felt their watchful stares condemn his deed.
The living much like the dead, would not understand. None had claimed to see the corpses that drifted down the canal in a lazy daydream.
None would understand what lay in the rot beneath the earth, what precious thing had to be seen at rest, undisturbed by whatever ethereal hands had cut the others from the bosom of their graves.
He stopped only when his fingers grazed against bone. She was still there.
