His head was pounding now, as though the contents of his skull were trying to force their way out. The brains that his family would often joke didn’t exist now felt as though they were mounting a desperate escape.

He clutched his head, fell to his knees and screamed. There followed a moment of silence. He screamed again, this time mostly so he had something to listen to.

Immobilized by the pain, he remembered the words his Mother would use whenever he felt ill – “Battle on regardless.” His ex-wife would often say something similar. “You can’t be that ill,” she’d say, “I mean, I have a headache, and I’m getting on with things!” He was quite confident that if she had woke up one morning with both of her arms having fallen off, flesh dangling off of her face, a gaping wound in her stomach and a Bear Trap closed upon both of her legs, she’d still try to brush it off and get on with the day.

He wished he could do that now. But he couldn’t. All he could do was wait until it was all over. Soon, it would be.