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Summary
His body had begun to shrivel, decay and bruise like the flesh of an old fruit with jagged spurs in his joints, bouts of stiffness and god, now trigger finger. He was rotting from the inside, turning grey and blue, bloating with bile, soon to burst if he didn’t act. A stretch of toned, calloused skin stood between him and godhood, the fingers tucked tightly into his palm, trembling beneath the open, anticipative mouth of the saw.