cut from The Lithopedion of Winterson Cemetery- (what might end up being my 4th adult novel)
The sun dragged its sharpest points across the sky and fat scabs of slow snow spiralled to the ground. Winifred watched from her round bedroom window. Behind the curved glass she felt like a goldfish being fed by an unsupervised child- too much, too fast. Soon the flakes covered the brown grass and the graves became harder to spot; grey and white against the accumulating snow; teeth knocked out of place, pushed forward and overlapping in a grassy lower jaw. The black fence separating the plots from the road, segregating the dead away from the living, was as ineffectual as braces added too late, and the general and the plot populations met and danced and parted again as they pleased.
Winifred was lost to it all. Everything was rendered temporary and difficult in light of
knowing the truth. Alice
(Also, look up LITHOPEDION... the weirdest stuff is true)