I used to think death might be hidden somewhere on our bodies. Tucked behind the pupil like a coin, slid beneath the thumbnail, ribbon-wrapped around a wrist bone. A sharp, dark sliver; a loose, pale pellet. Each person different. Each lifespan set. On the day of your death, it melts out through your entire body, a warm, broken bath bead. Until then, it waits - sealed and silent. If you knew where to look, you could find it, resting in the curve of your ear, waiting patiently for its right day.
- Aimee Bender, An Invisible sign of my Own

I like that last line. If death were hidden on my body, I'd like to think that my ear would be a good place for it too.