all I have is a sofa and a bunch of books in my storage unit

Ah, I love when real stories are more fascinating that fiction. This story came out late last week, about a woman in Delray (just a couple minutes down I-95 from where I am) who found a mummified baby locked in an old suitcase in her dead parents' storage unit. Here is the most recent follow-up to the story. As I said to a couple other people, it's so bizarre and just grotesque that it seems like something right out of a Faulkner, O'Connor, or Caldwell story. All tragedy, creepiness, social commentary, or ethical issues aside, this is fascinating stuff--or maybe those things aren't beside the point; maybe they are why this is so provacative.

What a cool creative piece that experience could turn into. Yes, I know that is not the point right now, and that maybe there is something wrong with looking at an infant's death as a potential story, but it has to be dealt with somehow, right? She can't act like this didn't happen or like she never found that suitcase. Anyone who was around when this child was born is now dead as well. I'd love to tell that story and fill in any blank spaces with my own imagination, but of course, it's not my story to tell--at least not as a nonfiction piece.