Joshua Malbin307 12
St. Apt 8Brooklyn NY 11215
3It was autumn, and night was coming earlier. There wasn’t much daylight left. If he’d had more time he might have picked somewhere quiet and nice for the burial, likeRick’s Place, a mud puddle on the bridle path where warblers gathered during migration.But that was in the middle of the forest, a good fifteen minutes away, and people gotmugged in the park at night. A man had even been killed recently, not far from Rick’sPlace itself.He chose a wooded hollow beside the park’s waste-collection lot, close to the exit yetsecluded, hidden from anyone passing on the city streets or finishing a jog on the park drive.He scraped a trench a foot long and half again as deep and took the plastic bag fromhis backpack. He used his fingertips to slide the body out, folded the paper towel aroundit firmly, and laid it in its grave. The hole was deepest in the middle so the corpse restedon its head and feet with a space under the remainder, and it had stiffened with its leftarm and leg splayed, so it only fit at an angle. He pushed dirt in, filling the spaces as wellas he could, smoothed the spot with his foot but did not step on it directly to tamp it, andscattered twigs and leaves for disguise.The next day he caught himself remembering the little man’s face and body. He’dbeen mostly bald, with a rear fringe of dark, shaggy hair, weak-jawed, and painfully thin,almost emaciated. There was something familiar about him. He looked like someoneAdam knew. It bothered him at odd moments of two consecutive days.