All That Will Be Left
I am very clumsy. I am the only person I know whose black eyes ARE from walking into doors. I also go running in the woods.
We all know what happens when a woman goes running in the woods. She either finds a corpse, or becomes one. I will be running, there will be a killer or a dog or just a moment of panic, and I will lose control of my limbs. I will trip over a tree root and hit my head. No-one will find me for months, when all that will be left is my smartphone, some earplugs, and a wedding ring. And my skull, grinning up at them from the floor, a hole punched through it by a rock.