He was covered in blood, so much of it that even his socks were soaked through. The engine roared as the ambulance sped towards hospital, the wailing siren pleading with the early evening traffic to clear the way. As each wound was bandaged, trying to stem the flow of blood, a police sergeant needed some answers. There was no time for questions on scene.
"What's your name?"
His answer's slightly muffled by the oxygen mask. "None of your business."
"Where do you live?"
His breathing quickening, he managed a single word. "Nothing."
"Was it a knife? A bottle?"
"It was nothing. I fell."
A needle is placed in his arm without so much as a flinch. Fluids are run into his body, a poor replacement for the blood he was losing.
"You don't get holes in you like this from falling."
"I told you. Nothing happened."
His lips were turning blue, his breathing more rapid and shallow.
"You've got wounds all over you, it would help if you told us how you got them."
"Did anyone see what happened? Was there anyone with you?" The officer knew he wouldn't get an answer, but he tried anyway.
He turned his face away, closed his eyes, and refused to say anything else.
Minutes later, at hospital, a man with no name, of no fixed abode, full of unreal holes, died from nothing whatsoever.