Chapter 13
§13. The Scarlet Letter
I traversed upon a colossal digestive tract, a grotesque path to behold. It was none other than the desiccated and contorted innards of a horse that had succumbed to death's embrace a mere two days prior.
Everywhere I gazed, my vision was assailed by the presence of fly eggs and wriggling maggots. Unintentionally, I trod upon them, sensing a disgustingly vivid squishiness beneath the sole of my shoe. Medieval painters, in their quest to frighten the masses, endeavored to depict the horrors of hell. Little did they know, a mere glimpse at the putrid intestines of a horse, two days lifeless, would suffice to evoke unparalleled terror.
"Had I but foreseen this fate, I would have adorned my feet with sturdy boots."
"The original directive stipulated immediate cleanup."
I grumbled, while Wilson, as if speaking on behalf of the authorities, offered a feeble justification.
"However, we were instructed by the director to preserve the scene until today. He claimed that the visual impact cannot be truly comprehended merely by perusing the photographs."
"Did this directive not arrive prior to the solicitation of my investigative assistance two days hence?" I inquired, met with silence from Wilson. I cast a momentary glare in his direction, but swiftly realized the futility of venting my anger and resigned myself. Indeed, he was correct. Seeing with one's own eyes differed vastly from observing through the lens of a photograph. Without having witnessed this tangle of entrails firsthand, I would have never surmised the gruesome smears besmirching the walls.
Drawing nearer to the horse's cadaver, I brandished my cane in a futile attempt to disperse the swarm of flies encircling it.