Being paralysed from the neck down is a nuisance. You can’t feed yourself, wash yourself, or scratch your own goddamn ear. You can’t do anything about the erections that spring up regular as the sun every morning. And you can’t swallow 4 packets of aspirin and a bottle of whiskey without someone willing to help – which is easier said than typed when you live at home with your parents.
Although the hero of our story has no control over his limbs, he has somehow held onto his sense of humour. And more than that, he has a plan.
My Inglorious End is taken from the short-story collection Untogether Lives by Andy P. Jones