David arrived in the morgue at 7:15pm. He had had bowel cancer, and had been operated on by Sarah, his girlfriend, earlier that day. There were complications, though they were mysterious: it did not end well for David, but it wasn’t because of the surgery. It was worse, perhaps, for Sarah, whose last moments with her love had been experienced through surgical gloves.

I opened him up to see if I could find out the cause of death. It was likely that it was related to the tumours, but we have to be certain these days. Cutting open the large intestine, I found a small, opaque, capsule. I opened it. An engagement ring, clean and irridiscent. He was such a bastard.