Before he sliced his wrists, he was warm, and he was handsome. Now he was pale and cold.
If he at least were a ghost, he would be warmer, heated with the opportunity to haunt. He would torment himself over his decision, but at least he would be somewhere warmer than here, with the worms.
Watching the service from ground level, he was disgusted by how cold she was being. She shivered her emotions out. She was mad. Always mad.
Her hands shook, stuttered as they tried to speak the words she wouldn’t.
She waved him on with a warm hand.