"WELL... THAT WAS DRAMATIC."
Reginald Plunkitt sat up in a pool of red.
"Eh? Wot? Wot's 'appenin?" He looked around at the tall figure cloaked in black beside him.
"Oh. Did I, er... Am I dead then?"
"VERY"
"So, what was dramatic?"
"YOUR DEATH. IT WAS VERY... DRAMATIC."
"Is that a good fing then? You a fan of drama?"
"NOT REALLY."
"Oh." Reg looked around at the spattered remains. A city fox was busy dragging away something that wobbled.
"What's that? I never had one of them fings!"
"IT'S A LIVER MR PLUNKITT. IT WAS DEFINITELY YOURS."
"Was?"
"YES. WAS."
(In honour of Sir Terry Pratchett. Thank you for so much fun. And drama)