He bears the burden of her eyes in a napkin folded inside his breast pocket. When he takes them out, the corneas feel like rubber, like dolphin skin. Her heart is gone, removed and shared with the dogs that live at the edge of town. She loved animals, and it wasn’t his to keep.
But her eyes, they were a murder weapon. A blue that burrowed beneath skin and poisoned bone.
“It was self-defense,” he says, to the death that stirs in his marrow. “It was self-defense”, he whispers, to the silent ghost, cupped in the palms of his hands.