There was a knock at our door. It was a foreign worker, in a light pink dress shirt and a black backpack slung over one shoulder. He was lost and needed help getting to his workplace. We gave him directions and sent him on his way.
There was a knock at our door. Who could it be this time? I was busy getting ready for work so my mother opened the door. I looked over her shoulder. It was a foreign worker, in a light pink dress shirt and a black backpack slung over one shoulder. He asked for our help, he needed to get to the company but didn’t know how.
He also didn’t know he was dead.
His head had been cleanly removed from his neck, leaving behind a smooth circle of flesh and bone peering out from his collared shirt.
I ran into the room. I told my dad he probably shouldn’t leave it. I heard my mother and sister outside, trying to figure out what to do. We thought he must’ve gotten into an accident on the way there earlier, and having died, was at a loss as to what to do. I heard them tell the worker he should inform the company about it, but through a voice-only message so they wouldn’t be shocked.