I left the fire tower this morning to visit my pile of body parts. After reading the first half of Floyd’s journal, I realized my pile deserved a name just as much as his. Why should it be forced to spend its days and nights freezing in the woods without a name? That isn’t fair.
And yes, dear diary, I have lost my mind. I cannot stop thinking about that stupid pile of mangled bones and rotting flesh. I needed it. It needed me.
So, my pile of body parts needed a name. The only problem was I couldn’t remember what the right hand looked like. Was it a man’s hand, a woman’s hand or did my stack of assorted limbs and feet and joints have the hands of a child? Did I have a junior in my midst?
My pile was waiting for me just past the tree line. I approached it feeling almost giddy. I couldn’t wait to give it a name. I peered through the spaces between the collection of severed body parts, looking for the hands. Muscle, skin, fur, and innards seemingly clung to each other for warmth. It was so, so cold.
A few minutes of intense looking went by until I finally spotted a hand. And I was in luck, it was the right hand. It was wedged in tight between some bones. I couldn’t see it clearly enough to make out if it was a man, woman or child, so I found a stick nearby and worked it in between the carefully placed gore.
A rush of warm air hit me in the face. I pulled the stick back and nearly fell to the ground. I inserted the stick again and the stream of air returned. The pile was breathing on me.
I pulled the stick back out, steadied my nerves and hurriedly stuck the stick back in the pile and desperately tried to uncover the debris around the hand so I could identify it. I had to name my pile. It deserved a name.
I cleared away enough to see a fingernail. It had a spot of faded pink nail polish. It was a female. I almost jumped for joy. A female! A girlfriend. My own ghoulish pile of meat and bones girlfriend. I knew right away what to name her. Valerie. I had her back. I had my Valerie back.
I felt a smile form on my face and was about to go back to the fire tower when something clicked in my head. The hand – it was familiar. I looked closer, my face even brushing up against a clump of hair stuck to piece of flesh on the pile. It startled me enough that I reared back. When I did, a flash of memory came to me. That hand. I knew that hand. I’d seen it before, holding a knife in my face.
It was Fury’s hand. This wasn’t my pile at all. This was a new pile. I scanned up the mound of various parts and saw the severed head of Pain camouflaged by dirt and dried blood. His eyes opened.