copyright – Liz Young
Company rules be damned, Sean wouldn’t do this job without a bottle in hand. He’d signed to maintain railway lines, there wasn’t mention of collecting body parts.
At least they’d found the head today. He stared through death’s pallor at the wide eyes, the freshly applied make-up. “Were you trying to look your best? Presumably, nobody told you how pretty you were.”
He took a swig before, grabbing hair and avoiding the ragged scarlet ring of decapitation, he placed the head into a sack.
His thoughts turned to the driver, “Poor Larry’s just returned from the stress of the last one.”
Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.