Fingers on names, finding and trailing the letters and the numbers, he searched for the freshest body that had been buried that day. Standing on a mound of soft earth, he slid the shovel down, and began.
Dirt lifted into the night over his shoulder as he relentlessly dug, until metal met wood with a thud. Hollow, his eyes in darkness, he knelt and washed the coffin lid free of debris, lifting it.
Pennies preserved them. They were ice to his fingertips as he lifted them up and tossed them aside. Thumb in eyesocket, he popped the eyeballs free and mashed them into his own, so that he may see again.
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