Elias lies on his back silently. He keeps his eyes closed, and he doesn’t move, not even when he’s been lying down long enough in one position for the average person to grow fidgety. He clasps his fingers together, and rests his hands on his abdomen. His mother used to always say that he was a champion at pretending to be asleep, in hopes that she would simply give up in trying to wake him up for school.
No luck, she’d always say, poking him all over until he couldn’t stop giggling and squirming.
Up and at ’em, she’d command, while swatting his little pajama-clad bottom.
Of course, even if you’d poked El now, he wouldn’t get up.
Why would he? He’s dead.
Read Part 1 here.