As the rancid stink hits me like a truck, I realise what is transpiring. My fellow carcasses and I are getting carried away to our final resting place.
The road seems rather rugged, but I am uncertain as I am unable to feel and my vision is fuzzy. We come to an immediate stop, as me and my acquaintances are thrown down into our cosy little trench. I cannot fight back or scream. Will anyone come to save me?
Several nights have passed, and I am filled with regret and anguish. Larvae and mites are devouring my lifeless remains. I try to kick and punch but to no avail. But admiringly, I have my fellow dead acquaintances and the gunshots in the distance to keep me company. I never wrote my last work or met my soulmate. For I am doomed to be devoured and rot away until my head finally gets digested by a hundred ticks.