Day 27 of 360 Days of Symbols. Today’s symbol? Dawn.
There. The first light. It creeps across the landscape. Blue, dark blue, lighter blue, tints of greys. The darkness becomes more solid things, the more solid things into shadows. The body is revealed one limb at a time, covered in leaves. Fallen. Orange and brown. One hand is in a creek and the body is dry and starved for life.
Flies will not touch it. Its eyes are missing, just empty holes. Mouth is perched in a smirk. Body is naked and there, on the palms face up are keyholes. Tattoos? Maybe. But they don’t feel like tattoos.
Eventually the light becomes red and the last of the night is shrugged off, lain on the ground and then shoved underearth, back to where the stars belong, back to where the moon sleeps.
Eventually someone will find the body. Smoke a pipe, look over it. Try and puzzle out this mystery themselves before going to the police. Always, always, looking at the trees. And seeing tiny doll eyes staring back at them. And the scent in the air of rusted keys in running water.