Ross Tarran, 11 Sep '13

James looks down. His clothes are quickly becoming soaked with the warm, dark fluid bubbling from a region of intense pain in his abdomen. His strength seems to be leaving him at the same rate as that precious resource.

James looks up. A man still stands before him, a twisted mixture of fear and desperation on his face. He looks close to tears. In his hands a weapon, its end sharp, dark and wet.

James struggles to catch his breath, before nearly being overwhelmed by a sudden hot flood into the back of his throat, a bitter signal of the inevitable rushing up to steal the meaning of all things.

As the world turns grey, James can only focus on a single thought: how desperately he wants to live.

The man has gone.