It hurt. God, it hurt. I thought I'd never

It hurt. God, it hurt. I thought I'd never die after I saw that blade cut me down. But I did die. I saw myself lying there with those terrifying empty eyes. I died. But... what is

love, baby don't hurt me." Oh God, torture! While I lay dying in a pool of my own blood THAT song is stuck in my head, what is...love? Baby don't hurt me, no mooooooooooor

Had I not already been bleeding profusely, I would be begging someone to just kill me now than to hear that song again. My sight faded as I glimpsed, no HEARD hell... Rick Aston,"

It can't be you!" Then I realized I was right, it wasn't Rick Aston, only another poser. I forgot about my bleeding for a moment anyway. The light was getting dimmer and my voice

was going out on me. The wound would probably prove to be fatal. At the very least, it was unnerving that I was mistaking posters for people. I really needed medical

equipment. Some scissors, local anesthetic cream, half an unripe orange, a length of high tensile cable, a mermaid's tear and a copy of 'An Inspector Calls' by J.B.Priestly.

As the anesthetic had been applied, the cables were fitted to the torso that had been cut open with the scissors. The orange was added just for flavoring. "My creation will live!"

!" On and on it went until Granny Smith took the wheel and stopped the seedy character in his tracks. Afterwards she retold the whole juicy story to her friends.

"He was rotten to the core, that one." reiterated Granny Smith. "'Whose cider you on?' I asked him &when he couldn't answer, I knew what I had to do." Her friends loved that story.