They found the nine-year-old little girl’s body wrapped in cellophane, tucked into a back passage of her favorite seafood restaurant. She was wrapped tighter than the stiff lipped tilapia they used to cultivate their fresh fish special. Her father, a lumber mill worker, saw her lying there disposed of like shameful debris, arranged in a position where one could see the murky outline of finger marks on her gray tinted neck. The day she was born her half-drawn moon eyes drank in his face. The day she died those same eyes, calm and quiet, made him question everything about the world.
By Nashae Jones