Just dead beetles – a drabble
She wandered in the garden. Both she and the garden were perfectly kept. Both were well manicured, beautifully styled and perfumed.
Roses bloomed in the sunshine. She turned to the birdbath and found that it was empty, dry and abandoned. No birds there, just dead beetles. Rust erupted around its cracked and broken edges.
As she looked back to the perfect garden an awful thought occurred to her. Did she have any dead, dry, abandoned places inside of her?
Was she like the story of “The Picture of Dorian Gray”? And, if so, how would she be able to tell?