The man died but did not decay, he resides in a tomb on the 9th floor of my heart.
On that fateful day of his demise, the day was faithful but only to its cruelty. I recall the blood-stained sledge which was said to have shattered his soul to pieces- small, tiny, pieces. It was reportedly said that as he climbed to the top of a ladder to fix a mechanical fault, he lost his balance like a pole vault and fell on the edge of a sledge. (He became the mechanical fault that was fixed!) Although his wounds were unimaginable-the slize in his head was like a butcher's cut - but his wounds are nothing to be compared to the wound I have right now in my heart.
On that fateful day, he ended his peregrinations in a gruesome way, and now he resides with me on the 9th floor of my heart.