She slowly peeled the petals back. It was early in spring and most of the flowers were bulbs, shut tight, pale, unwilling.
Slowly, she pried them from the whole, embracing the softness of each petal against her winter-chapped hands.
Petal by petal, she pulled until the center was revealed. A tiny maggot writhed violently, causing her to drop the stem. As she left she walked over the petals.
He blackened beneath her heels.