The trees fly past the window but the clouds are oddly stationary, moving, I’m sure, slowly in the opposite direction to me, or as fast as the ethereal winds will push them. The glass of the window seems like a barrier between man and nature, the thing Frost abhorred above all.

As the green turns to the continuous brown scape of the city my mind drifts back to the matter at hand. Today could be the path between life and death.

So, I think as I stare up at the Robin’s Egg blue (says the Dulex colour chart in my bag – train journeys are boring) of the sky. There’s no harm in me doing a little retail therapy before the deed is discussed.

I pull out the tube map from my brown faux leather bag and stare vacantly at its array of bright colours. It’s hard to concentrate when the Reaper is sitting in the seat across from you, but eventually I grab the pen and draw my path onto the paper as a child does on a maze on a placemat in a restaurant.
The train stops and I get off, ticket in hand, ready to face black.