A rubber boot kept it from closing completely. He gave it a push, but was met with resistance, bumping into something heavy behind it. A nasty odor of...rotting flesh hung in the air. From his narrow perspective, the boot was connected to a corpse sprawled on the floor, its withered, moldering head lying in a dry puddle of blood, its boney hand clutching a shotgun. It didn’t look like the kitchen had been ransacked; cabinet doors and drawers were closed; no food containers or wrappings littered. Good. So, in the future, if I tell you to do something – or not to do something – please trust me. I mean, if you seriously disagree, talk to me and we can work it out." I will."She smiled. "Come on. We're late."We entered the building and the classroom."Girls – late again I see." Sorry, Ms. Christensen."She was sitting at her desk. The rest of the class sat at theirs, quietly writing."Your own loss. We're writing an in-class essay today. Go ahead and get started. It's on the Red Badge of. More

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