You catch a lot more flies with honey than vinegar, as they say, though I warrant you get even more flies with corpses. Flies aren’t too picky, when you come to it.

He had not even done the fledgling courtesy of shredding open a major artery, anointing himself in the viscous gore, and desecrating her body. The order was as flexible as her corpse remained.

She had thought he was dead, or at least not totally alive, and you could not still be dating someone you believe had an autopsy, so it was not really cheating.

Being certain one is alive isn't something to which one pays mind. If you could ask the question, you were fine. If you could not, hopefully you had a cozy coffin.

To her, it was like asking a butterfly what it remembered about being a caterpillar. She could fly now and nothing could touch her when she left the cocoon of her body behind at night.

More flies are caught with honey than with vinegar.