The Unburied Season

Elena stood at the kitchen sink, the papaya she'd cut earlier sitting in a ceramic bowl, its orange flesh gleaming like something that should still be alive. Three months since David's funeral, and she still moved through her days like a zombie—functional, present, but fundamentally not there.

Outside, the old bull—Barnaby, David had called him—lowed from the pasture. The sound vibrated through the floorboards, a reminder that animals didn't respect grief. They needed feeding, watering, caring for, regardless of whether your heart had been hollowed out.

She filled the dog's water bowl, watching clear water spiral from the faucet. Rex, David's loyal golden retriever, sat panting beside her, his gray muzzle testimony to his own passage through time. He'd stopped waiting by the door for David's truck a month ago. Animals, she'd learned, adapted better than people.

"Come on, old man," she said to Rex, grabbing the bucket of feed scraps. "Let's feed the stubborn bastard."

Barnaby met them at the fence, his massive shoulders blocking the sun. He was supposed to go to slaughter next week—David had sold him before the accident, before the tractor rolled, before everything became "before." The buyer had been understanding, had given her time to grieve, but money was running thin, and decisions needed making.

She scratched behind the bull's ears, something David had done daily, something she'd started doing only because it felt like loving him by proxy. Barnaby leaned into her touch, his rough tongue catching a drop of sweat from her arm.

"You too, huh?" she whispered. "Just zombie cows and zombie widows, walking around like the world hasn't ended."

Rex barked, shattering the moment. The bull snorted and returned to grazing, and Elena watched the papaya orchard in the distance, David's pride and joy. The fruit would rot soon if she didn't harvest it. The farm would fail if she didn't sell the bull. Life would keep demanding, even when she didn't want to participate.

She turned back to the house, Rex at her heels. The papaya sat on the counter waiting, and for the first time in three months, she thought she might actually eat it.