Paul Zipperer

“Wearing an off-white skier’s jumpsuit, he had a bullhorn in one hand, a walkie-talkie clipped to his belt, a digital thermometer zippered on his sleeve, and a revolver holstered on his hip.””

“she looks to the keeper as though to say she has made a mistake, that she has wandered by error into the land of the dead and must return, but the keeper simply tells her to close the zipper and move onto the next body. She kneels before the next body bag and unzips and whispers this is not my son, moves from body to body, seeing how the regime has left its mark on each face and neck, that murder has a smell of antiseptic, and each time the mouth whispers, this is not my son, the mouth whispering it again and again, this is not my son, this is not my son, this is not my son, this is not my son, and she looks to the keeper who is looking at the time on his wrist and she unzips another body bag saying, this is not my son before she has even taken read of the face, this is not my son, this is not my son, this is not my son, this is not my son, seeing before her the face of Bailey serenely broken, the skin smelling of bleach, and what was bent inside her breaks so that a wretched howl escapes her body and she takes his face into her hands, stares into the face of the dead child seeing only the living child, and she wishes she could die instead, smoothing her hand along the downy face, the hair still wet with blood.””