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Kicked to death by a horse

And all in that instant the low early morning sunlight caught the tiny hairs on her fetlock, turning them the richest, goldenest auburn, exactly the same colour as the hair on his daughter's head, saw all this too late of course, too late.

Beaten to Death

By now, the breaking of his bones had become a familiar melody. Even pain itself was only a memory.

His tormentors had long since lost the sweaty rage with which they'd begun (how long ago?) and had settled down, huffing and puffing, to the task at hand.

He could discern this through the slit of one swollen eye (his left?).

Then, at last, a new sensation. Black, deep-heat warmth, spreading slowly up the back of his neck.

Jumping Out Of A Window

He didn't 'jump' exactly, suggesting as it does the headlong rush, the Simpson's style self-defenestration.

Rather, he sidled nonchalantly over to the window, as though he hadn't a care in the world (he had, in fact, more cares than you could possibly imagine).

'Oh, look', he said, perching on the sill, 'someone's left the window open'.

'I'd better not lean out too far', he said, doing just that. 'Oh dear', he said, as the vertiginous rush overtook him, 'too late now'.

In a shoddy little office in Marylebone, Hermione heard an unfamiliar noise, and started.

Eaten By A Lion

Julius had never slept in a tree before.

It was black, dark black, when he was woken by the loudest breath he had ever heard. His eyes adjusted to see a huge lioness inching her way up the trunk.

He thought about his gun, safely locked in the boot of his Land Rover, as the lioness reached his foot.

As he heard his ankle pop, he remembered the engraving of Daniel that had hung in his mother's kitchen in Capetown. And he knew that there was no God.

Sudden Heart Attack

No, she thought as the bus streaked past the end of her road. If I miss the bus, I miss the tube. If I miss the tube I miss the train. If I miss the train it's all over.

Running already, she managed an extra spurt as the indicators started to flash. And then the sky turned purple.

Ah, well, she thought, as she watched her last breaths rise like tiny, everdiminishing mushroom clouds.

(c) Reuben Turner 2002