It was messy in a way I’d never seen, and I’m no stranger to dead ponies. In abstraction, it was oddly beautiful.
Or maybe I just decided it so. I had to keep it together. Going noodle-y would do anyone any good so I fought to keep it distant, abstract:
a delicate tangle of intestines spread out into unlikely wings
aortal spurts spelled out a rough dream of antennas
it was a chrysalis of death
I stumbled away to vomit. Hardy stepped in to stand between me and the body.
“Royal Guard’ll be here by tonight,” Police Chief Dandy Prance woodenly declared, looking at neither the corpse nor the crowd. His apple green eyes were too wide, and his big green face decidedly pale.
I looked hard at the ground. The yellow cobblestones seemed supersaturated in the hard morning light. A tiny, rusted red spec wetly gleamed. A hoofstep away, another sanguine droplet shone, then another, and another.
I walked away with my head hung low, muzzle towards the ground. Hardy fell in behind me.The trail took us towards a shaded back lane. I could clearly hear the tip-tap of Hardy’s lead “fighting” shoes.
The old bruiser was always ready to scrap, the sort to try and buck his way through any and every situation. I was glad to have him at my back.