The blackness of plastic bin bags.

'She's dead!' he said.
'It happened ten days ago...arrangements had been made...decided by others, they thought it was for the best... Ohh...the room has been cleared...can you collect her things?'
He added without feeling.
--------------
'Outside, over there !'
He nods towards three black plastic bags that lie next to a skip.
No name attached, no label of contents, nothing but the remains of a life in the blackness of plastic bin bags.

In one, cheap threadbare clothes.
Colourless thin blouses, drab skirts, dresses, two dark blue coats with the buttons missing and a pair of old scuffed white shoes.
How graceful and elegant she once was.

Another ripped bag holds love letters.
Unanswered, from admirers tied in faded red ribbon.
Pulp fiction, love and romance, tales of adventure, sorrow and regrets.
A grubby toilet bag, face creams, bright scarlet lipsticks, make up for the bright lights, now dimmed.
An long handled ivory hair brush, grey strands of fine hair woven in to the bristles.
And a broken mirror set in a tortoiseshell frame.
A mirror that once held the reflection of a beautiful proud woman.

Bric -a- brac falls from a split bag and clatters to the ground .
Chipped china vases, delicate glass paperweights.
An assortment of other items collected over a lifetime.
An inventory would have been required to list them all.

'There should be some personal things... a diamond ring with a...?'
'Didn't see anything like that !' he replied interrupting abruptly.
' A wrist watch...gold basket weave strap and a...?'
He crossed his arms and stood prepared to ward of further questions.
'Nope...' he replied.
' No watch, I told you nothing like that!'
His tone hard without any hint of emotion.
'Take what you want...I'll get rid of the rest in the skip!'
He said, leaning down to lift the remains of a life in the blackness of plastic bin bags.