Why do you still love her mommy? She is dead. Take off that pretty dress from her corpse and give it to me – the little pale girl spoke as she stood by her mother rocking the dead child. The chair creaked on the rotting wooden floor and her mother looked at the dead face of her sister with a forlorn longing that it disgusted her to see them like that – her sister dead and her mother pathetically sad.
She wore a tattered dark blue dress, her sand brown hair was tied up in a red ribbon. She was frail, as frail as the rest of her family – her mother, her dead sister, the older one and the younger one.
She really wanted to have the pink dress her dead sister was wearing. The dead have no use for anything and when they decay they start to smell. Her dead sister was beginning to stink but she did not know which smelled more – her rotting house or her decaying sister.