Managing death

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There's blood behind my eyelids, and in my mouth. A knife, cold and sharp-edged, is pressed beneath my Adam's apple. The blade digs in, slowly.

I'm cackling so hard my throat tears.

I jolt awake, and almost tumble from the wicker chair in the bedroom. And I really didn't have that much to drink last night.

Dream.

Another one. And I'd barely closed my eyes.

Just a dream. As if anything is just a dream in my line of business.

These days I hardly sleep at all, my body doesn't need it. Comes with being a Regional Manager, comes with being Australia's Death.

And I'm a long way from being used to it. My body may not need sleep, but my brain has yet to accept that.

But it wasn't the dream that woke me.

Something's happening. A Stirrer… well, stirring.

Their god is coming, and they're growing less cautious, and more common: rising up from their ancient city Devour in greater numbers like a nest of cockroaches spilling from a drain.

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