Roadkill

I was running down a familiar road when I came across a collection of flesh and bone. I couldn't figure out how long the body had been there, but the remains weren't pretty. I could make out a broken jawbone with a leathered tongue laced between the jagged teeth. The eyes, milky white and writhing with maggots, made me shiver. The spine was awkward and contorted, arched as if it had been frozen in place when the person had hoped to twist out of death's rib-crunching grip. The cops came to package it up and take some prints. I explained what had happened and even told them where I had bought my running shoes. I finished my run and went home. Weeks passed and I had pretty much forgotten the whole thing until an officer showed up on my doorstep. Apparently my body was found by a runner a few weeks prior. He offered his condolences, and I shook his hand before closing the door.

The funeral was short and ill-attended.