When I reached him, the first thing that struck me were his eyes. If these were indeed the windows to his soul, then long ago had some vicious beast ripped its way through them, and with cruel smile, had kicked, punched, bitten and gouged out that soul that once harboured that most precious of jewels, hope.

Now that soul lay raped and dead within the bloodied shell of its master, for soul and shell can never be parted, no matter what tearful pleadings for some eternal paradise are made. The scars that are etched upon the soul are also to be found cut deep into the skin. Those deep blue eyes simply screamed the word ‘despair’ and although, of course, I heard nothing, my brain began to throb as his screams reached inside me and grasped.

The corpse’s wounds were both numerous and deep. Some had been inflicted long, long ago, their chasms now filled with ugly scar tissue. Some were very recent and were still awash with blood. Wounds both old and new could still be seen and I knew that the corpse had felt the pain of both when he died.

This had not been a quick death, but a death that had lingered, lurked, watched and waited. For many years the corpse had sighed and with each sigh, Death had taken a step forward towards him, never hiding in the shadows, but always walking in the light so that the corpse knew by whom he was being stalked and that the stalker was getting ever closer.

Just as had been planned, the final moment came initiated by the corpse himself, as, with the flick of blade on wrist, he flung himself headlong and irreversibly towards oblivion, an oblivion whose effects came and went so swiftly, so very, very swiftly. But the corpse liked it better that way.....