I looked around.
No sign of a break in, no sign of a struggle, no sign of foul play. The only evidence indicating anything out of the ordinary was the body on the bathroom floor. Actually, the body straddled the entrance way between the bathroom and the kitchen.
I looked around again and, for the life of me, couldn't figure out what had happened. One thing I knew for certain was when I left the house that morning, that body-- dead or alive-- was not there. And now, somehow, there she or he (I couldn't tell from this angle) was, lying in a somewhat crumpled heap on the floor.
Had I met the Vic earlier, trespassing on private property, I would have escorted him or her out. Or, if that wasn't going to be possible, then I would, most likely, have still ended up with a body on my floor.
But I didn't do it. And since this was shaping up to be an unsolved mystery, I made the decision to get rid of it.
I had no other choice. A dead body is a dead body and I would, most likely, be a suspect.
As I made peace with my decision, grabbed some tissues and made my way towards the corpse, I found myself wondering about his/her family.
Even if they were estranged and hadn't been in contact for some time, family was still family, right?
I wondered if they'd organize a search party.
I hoped not.
It's one thing to have to deal with a corpse, but it's living relatives?Especially a family of spiders? Literally?
I'd really rather not.