Our 41st Year
The office was small. Nothing extreme, very ordinary. Just a small office with a jumbled desk, three aging chairs, and a wicker trash can. The walls were off-white and the floor concrete. A practical office. A business office. It was mid-afternoon and a thick beam of light shone through the lone window, illuminating the room with a soft glow. I stood for a moment, in the doorway, and watched the dust particles floating aimlessly in the light. One in particular caught my attention as it tarried on the edge before slipping off and disappearing completely into the relative darkness beyond the beam. ‘Ugh, how depressing,’ I thought, as I reached over and flipped on the switch, extinguishing the remaining particles in the barrage of artificial light. And that’s when I saw it. Beneath the window. It had been shielded by the beam, but now, with the overhead lamp blazing, it was clear as anything I’d ever seen…A body. A head. Separated. Decapitated.