We lay on our backs and attempted to make shapes from the clouds bobbing around in the late July sky. Our picnic was finished and we were now feeling the effects of its processed loveliness on our bodies.

Being 20-something free spirits, our picnic contained more sugar and preservatives than real nutrition, but either way, a large grab bag of Wotsits, 6 mini scotch eggs and a large can of Red Bull each had left us feeling full, but slightly nauseous. We always had Wotsits as I love the way they make your fingers bright yellow and clag your teeth up. Sam, my rather testy but kindred girlfriend, (man she’d kill me if she knew I called her that. We no-longer had girlfriends or boy friends, we had partners. Boyfriends and girlfriends were for kids and fans of One Direction), Sam, she always chose mini scotch eggs. I never asked her why. Strange really as I often told her why I did certain things, or chose particular items, but I never asked her about her choices and she never offered the information freely.

So we laid there in the fitful sun, on the southern slope of Glastonbury Tor, with the Somerset levels laid out beneath our feet, marvelling at the fact that there was any sun at all, in England, in July. The edgy, twitchiness of the Red Bull made us slightly more alive, but we chose to be concrete and lay like paving slabs or lizards warming themselves.

My left arm was curled up behind my head for support. Sam was kind of snuggled in next to me. We weren’t cuddling, that’s what your parents did, but it was pretty close. Publically intimate whilst still maintaining an air of “coolness” and self. With sudden heat, I felt intense pain within my left armpit. No wait, the pain felt much deeper than that and anyway, the terrible pain was no longer my chief concern. Something in my subconscious had stood up and starting shouting “Sod the pain mate, now’s the time to PANIC!” And I had to agree, although I didn’t know why.

I tried to panic, I really did, but all I managed to do was turn my head to the left and watch as Sam whipped out the long, thin blade of a filleting knife from my armpit. A look of enthralled joy made itself comfortable upon her face as the blade came out clean, but a Rorschach blot of death bloomed in the armpit of my favourite T-Shirt.

“I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to kill someone and now I’m finding out. I love you Pete.” She looked so pretty, so engaged.

That’s funny I thought, I’ve often wondered what it would feel like to die. And then I found out.

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