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Her body, while only alive for barely twenty years, will take, in my opinion, another two hundred to be fully decomposed. The days of rotting flesh, vermin and foul gasses have long passed, but it was sufficiently elongated as to drive away all who would interfere with this interment process. Those who fear the distorted sleeping face of an abandoned physical shell and refuse to return to this isolated field have forever left behind the possibility of laying eyes on a genuine treasure of fated circumstance.
A single stroke of lightning, gulfed down with an ocean of rain, curved her into a cloudy figure of glass, as though she had only lived as a manifested recollection of time's incessantly drumming cascades of sand. Internal organs, of course, were not spared and had begun their return to living ash, melding this sleeping statue's reproductive organs, hips and entrails into the prolific soil, sadly before the electric phenomenon occurred. Her hair is a series of petroleum jets constantly flowing from the root of her crystal skull, renewing radiant, swerving halos of multicoloured lights around her heavenly features. Her open mouth, the only unsealed orifice remaining, is the abode of a breathtaking star of Bethlehem now shining in vain in a sky of cerulean freckles.
Never before have I wished for there to truly be a judgement day, if only such a female were to rise again. Or have I, while wasting months watching a corpse refusing to fade away, witnessed a being's ability to escape oblivion? Perhaps, through the natural course of death, there is a manner of going beyond the potential of organic flesh, which we, humans, have never bothered to explore and that may lead to an ascension instead of a fall.