The soft breeze stirs the grass. A broken thing lain there - cracked chalk, flaked edges. Mess of curves turned inside out, of joints flexed beyond their limits; dried out and meaty. Spatchcocked open butterfly wings - blood collects in hollows, jewel like, a study in white and ruby.
A sprawled twist on the gentle slope. Mouth open as if screaming. The wind blows again, and the scream becomes a gasp that catches in another throat, becomes a panting breath as stringy legs carry a pounding heart home.
“Aba,” ki* chokes out as ki braces too-big hands and protruding elbows against the kitchen table, “I found another one.”
*Third person singular pronoun, equivalent to it/they/he/she. See Pronouns and belonging for more