She watched as the hanging corpses twisted in the gentle breeze. Savaged beyond the point of stubborn resistance, they slowly stiffened under the burning glare, which would leave them dessicated beyond all recognition.

She smiled.

Another batch of clothes, washed clean.


Falstaff said...

Hmmm...Reminded me, for some reason, of this

??! said...

Interesting, that. Both are personifications (somewhat), but where one talks of death, the other talks of life.

Interestingly, this was a poem originally, but it felt better as a short story.

Lekhni said...

Reminds me of the slightly soapy smell of clothes drying in the sun, that turns into a warm, fresh smell after they have dried. No clotheslines here, sadly..

Shyam said...

"Hanging corpses"? Only if you're Really Bad at laundry (or your dhobi is) and have done your clothes to death :) But yeah, nice short story!

??! said...

The second-best smell ever - after freshly rained-upon mud of course.


Mystique said...

i like. i like i like.

??! said...

Thank you.