I would choose to die screaming, then in silence, in the teeth a large, carnivorous animal. To be gifted one final lesson of the flow of all things. I could become a feast, or simply be left to rot…. The circling birds would discover my scent, descending from heaven to find me sweet. Writhing Ensor parades of ting beings would break me down in a hot fever, until all that remains are the stones of my skeleton, anonymous, raw to the winds, then sinking.
Photo by Marne Lucas