He had stopped somewhere, he would have wondered where if he’d the mental fortitude, beside a lamppost beneath which a collection of rain had formed a muddy and reflective puddle. He found himself, staring down at the still water, seeing his face, unrecognized for the moment—his eyes seeing while his mind saw the frozen expressions of horror, the faces of the dead like masks. The world of dreams invading his sleepless daze, he felt he should feel something with a severed head at his feet. Then, the slow workings of his brain suddenly put the pieces together for him.
Clarence
Tale Told 