I’m usually more careful than that.

I could sense the sickly smell of blood.  My hand was in a wet pool.  Too soon to open the eyes.

A small panel beater was hammering out the dents on the inside of my eyeballs and my mouth felt like a camel train had camped there overnight.

Whatever was out there on the other side of my eyelids was going to have to wait until the hammering eased up a little.

But the headache was not the main problem.  Beyond the headache, the right cheek of my arse was screaming louder than my head.  I decided to feel it.  Mistake.  It was wet.  It was wet with my blood.

I had taken one in the backside for the good guys.

But there was no wound.  There was a welt though.  I could feel that well enough.  I crawled across the threadbare Axminster into…