Post Mortal, by Jack Tilley

I could not stop for Emily, though she kindly kept it brief. I nodded and passed on. Then later at home, trying to read the news – I felt the ligament – in my brain – give –

​It had a humid, pulsing, uncorking effect…and everything that I had ever thought, and everything that I had never thought…great gawping multitudes of myself, and everything that wasn’t myself, gushed like glory onto the floor. After that I scuttled round my scattered remains on little brittle claws, in a terrible me-maze of anxiety, before taking up a final etherised position right where my sun wouldn’t shine.