It once held the flesh of a man who sold his body for war; and carried the needs of his pulse. But now they lie with pictures - and a flag.
It stopped moving thousands of miles away. Yet here it is, resting and coming to life.
Though no one will see it, the existence soon melts to explosion like a lighter in a fire. The mourners have no idea to think about his bones.
The skull has an impression. His is of fear.
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It's a curious thing of carcasses; they all are intrinsically similar and yet we treat them differently. We end up attributing much life to this body diffused of energy. Perhaps it's from the introspection that occurs due to witnessing the evidence of death, of a life no longer presented to us. And the fact that we have no knowledge to account for the scene, no code for retrieving the next step, only pushes us along the quest despite the doubt. One day we might know. It's worth it, even if the answers we accumulate alert us that knowledge was never possible.
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