She tries so, so hard. Lips part slightly. Lips moisten. Wet tongue laps at lips. Hands claw. Lips whisper no, no, must not eat. Must not. Must not. M...st not. But the hot raw stinks of the Paella work upon her, whispering, seducing the delicate lickle flower. Body becomes all twitchy. Lips dribble. She does not want to. She does not want to. But she longs so, so deeply to feast. Suddenly she cannot resist what the stinks have forced her to crave. Wet lips giggle with brainless ecstasy. Shelly. Two days after that, Ryan held William’s hand through the blurred service, the words all running together, the faces all distorted, nothing real to William except Gabe’s casket and Ryan’s hand. Then he ran from the casket, from the gravestone, from the people, from the mass of black. And Ryan followed, at a steady pace, perhaps slower than usual. And they sat there on the ground in their ugly black clothes while William sobbed into Ryan’s chest and Ryan gently stroked William’s hair, cooing in. More

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