Missing your head, oozing your goop into the road, where are you now? What does your new body feel like? Where is your head? Can I touch it? What is your life? Are you practiced in certain lost arts, unnamed since Malebolgia was formed? You missed the grass by just a few feet, you unlucky viper. Then it got ya, the car, or the shovel, or whatever. Now half of you is flat, and covered with a shiny film. They say it's myth that snakes are slimy. But in headless death, it's true.
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