Sick At The Thought by Ian Hill
I had the expectation of a yummy box of chocolate liqueurs but when I opened it I was horrified to find something disturbing and completely unsettling. The box was quite deep and I anticipated more than one level of delights inside. It had a monochrome print depicting a beautiful oriental landscape on its lid with a fearsome shogun warrior sweeping a traditional samurai sword above his head ready to strike. An inscription in what I assumed to be Japanese did nothing to prepare me for what lay inside. On breaking the seal and removing the lid the intoxicating aroma of sweet chocolate and alcohol wafted into my nostrils and I almost swooned at the prospect. I enthusiastically folded back a layer of blood red tissue paper to find yet another delightful print of the warrior holding his sword out to one side this time. After removing the print I folded back yet another red layer only to gasp at what appeared below it now. As with many boxes of chocolates it was segmented into compartments. My gorge began to rise as I looked down at two dozen exquisitely caricatured miniature decapitated heads whose open-mouths and bulging eyes all seemed to be peering up at me at the shock at what just happened to them.