It was morning already. The cold, pale orange sun was sitting high up there in the sky, poking its head around the clouds. The air hung heavy with the smell of dry bush and bonfires. The cottage still kept its silence, swarm of files buzzing in and out the stubby window. The already smelly corpse had attracted them, perching for a taste of blood or any exposed organ of the two. 

Flies circled ken's feet and blood stained shoulder. As if to inspect, a curious housefly landed on Ken's face. Cleaned it's thorax then it's head, it crawled carefully towards his nostrils. With the alcoholic breath attracting it, it crept...