Down, down. Head over heels, still tumbling down, down. Stop. Motionless. I stared at my outstretched hand and slowly brought it back towards me until it was just inches from my face. This hand had pushed, pushed. The hand of a murderer. I recalled the look of anguish and astonishment at his betrayal on the canvas of his face as he twisted round in his final moment. The canvas that was now blank save for a few dribbles and spatters of blood that stood out in stark relief against his slowly paling flesh. I turned to to my fellow traitors with a grin of malice stretching across my face the fires of a man possessed danced in my bottomless eyes.