He was strewn across the pavement, unraveled. His skin loosely hooked on the little bumps and ridges of the concrete. It was all painted crimson, glittering like a rose dappled in morning dew. Whatever shouldn't have been there was there, the meat-clad ribcage a few feet away for example, surely housing a still heart. This poor boy had been absolutely demolished, and by what? And what would he look like reconstructed?