
Sandra felt detached, as if standing looking at herself from a few feet away. Somehow surprised at her imagined facial expression, it was certainly not how she felt. Inside she was smiling. The casket stood dark and aloof, the lid balanced on end. The face inside was ashen, smooth, parchment dry. Her mother, released from life, freeing Sandra from her years of denial. She had expected more emotion, probably not sadness, a feeling more akin to relief.
(Image: Jose Guadalupe Posada.)
When the explorers finally broke through the dense, green, forest covering there was a collective sigh of relief. At last we’ve found it they exclaimed. No more digging a trench by torchlight away from the safety of the camp and squatting over it, vulnerable to any creature of the night.


“Oh no, not again, Mum, mum there’s something wrong with me,”


