Tuesday, 13 November 2012

The Hand

Protruding from the damp soil riddled with tiny worms, rigid but soft it could easily have been mistaken for a fungus of some kind, the flesh a mouldy green .The spidery fingers clutching at nothingness, its blisters long since burst into puss filled lesions, festering bacterium.

The decomposing corpse was fine for the surrounding roots it seemed, renewing the life of budding Daffodils, Geraniums, and blooming blossoms of pale pink – Buried alive, perhaps?

The seasons passed from a humid heat to black ice, as the hand withered away to yellow bone.
A man nearly died from fright upon seeing it. Sprouting there from the woodland ground a year later, shooing his dog away to reveal the clasping digits it had just been chewing on. His dog barking frenetically as his heart raced tittering towards his second stroke.

A blue and white tent was erected around it within hours, clinical and clean it looked quite odd there in the wood as the forensics team move in...They found more, many more of these strange things sprouting about the place, arms and legs a bit of both in some cases buried across the state in shallow graves, badly buried in most cases, at night by men in a hurry it seems.

The gangland conclusions of a Mafia massacre and a re-shift in the five Families the papers reported, around about the same time the post-mortem concluded he was buried alive, name of Angelo Porcini, Capo of the Colombo family.

Other species uprooted that year included: Phalloides, Gambino, Luciano and Chanterelles.

But it was Angelo's hand, or what was left of it that made the front page of The New Times in black & white protruding from the paper.

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