The Horror

I remember it well.I was a boy 6 years of age, healthy and full of the joys of life. I had decided to go playing in the woodland not far from the cottage were dear mother and father lived. It was a beautiful autumn's day, the sun was shinning and the birds were filling the air with song.As I ran hopping and skipping through the woods, to my surprise, I stumbled across a fallen bird. A white dove, perfect in all its glory, lay still and lifeless before my feet. I remember thinking how even in death its beauty remained intact - it was like the angels that mother would speak of in our evening prayer.Then, to my astonishment, this fallen angel before me had begun to move and twitch. Delighted that it was not dead after all, I immediately bent down with the intention of helping it back on to its feet. As I cupped my hand around its delicate body a strange fear of dread began to wash over me. Its under side seemed somewhat irregular. Alarmed, I turned the bird over and to my dismay, an orgy of maggots squirmed in a sexual feasting frenzy over its' body.It was at that point I realised there is no beauty in death - only The Horror.