Moving along against the wall he could barely manage a crawl. Rain soaked coat he crawls through the puddles, his mind is a muddle. He knows not what happened but dreams of a cuddle.
Each move harder than the previous all the effort could be in vein his blood flowing freely washed down the drain. Life ebbing from his body rivers of red stain his hands and feet upto his head it flickers he may soon be dead.
Flash backs of family of happy times of little children and nursery rhymes. He crawls another couple of feet like a sodden calved piece of meet. He sprawls face down his face in his hands curls up in a ball thinking this is the end of it all.
It’s not the way he wanted it to end on a dirty road body releasing it’s crimson load. He opens his eyes and let’s out a cry got to get home he really must try. Onto his knees hands out in front each movement taking all his effort to make a distance so short.
Round the corner there is his door only a few feet more. A car pulls up they open the door there are two cracks and he lives no more.
Rhythm of the Ink 