"Gulp? Whassup?"
  'Gulp'? I hate that. If I'd wanted to be called Gulp, I wouldn't've bothered calling myself Swallow.
  "Gulp? Babe, you OK?"
  And as a matter of fact, I was OK for the most part. I was, however, also lying in a pool of my own luke-warm blood. Which was matting my long black hair against the floor.
  Which was a shame really, because it was messing up my sexy red kimono.
  My eyes were open, black drops against pale skin, and they stared, although there wasn't anything they actually focused on.
  So considering all these things, I turn to Mack and say to him, "..."
  It's not very easy talking when you're dead.