When the body dies, the bowels empty. Your existence starts with humiliation.

Most writers don't have their characters shit on screen so I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't already know this. It's all right. I'll forgive you this one.

Normally when a body begins to decompose, the skin will tighten, the muscles will relax, after thirty minutes the skin will turn purple and waxy. These are just facts. Few really know how it feels. Few really know how alive one suddenly is when this happens. What a relief it is to be free of the confines of the human body.

And that's all it is, really: confining. Stifling.

But this isn't your first thought. Your first thought is usually something along the lines of wondering why your shit and piss reek so much it makes your nostrils burn.

You'll sit up and breathe fire and then no more.

No more breathing.

You don't need it. Air doesn't interest you.

Neither does your sense of smell.

Colours swirl before your eyes and every speck is so goddamn fascinating.

So fascinating, in fact, you hardly notice the shit and piss soaking through your clothing and fouling you.

That humiliation is over. It's no longer of concern.

Then you'll wonder why your throat is still burning and you're hungry, oh, you're so hungry.

A hunger you've never felt before. A thirst so dry you feel as though you're cracking.

Left foot, right, stand up. Stand up. Crack.


You need something to fill these cracks.

Oh, brother. Oh, brother, if only. If only you knew, brother.

It hurts.

You're lucky if they didn't insist on burying you after you died.

Some of them are, er... hmm.


After a couple thousand years, their minds seek nothing more than returning to their time. They're always dwelling in past memories; swimming through the swamp of their sadness.

Fucking pathetic.

And the ones under a hundred years are even more odious.

But those cracks, brother. You'll need to do something about them.



You'll feel like a child. Everything is new and old at once. Some senses are kicking in that make you want to scream... out of happiness or sadness, you'll never be sure.

You won't remember this beginning, anyway.

Right now you're thinking about your first beginning.

It always starts with humiliation.

Naked. Covered in blood and birth.