I could just imagine him lying there, oddly peaceful in a pool of his own blood. Despite the unsightly wounds running up and down his crimson-stained flesh, he's in no pain. His thoughts are the only thing keeping him alive, the only element binding his soul to his body. But as the sun creeps further into the west, and his assailant towers over him, waiting patiently for the life to leave his eyes, even that begins to fade. It's only seconds now, mere uncountable fragments of time before he's gone from us forever. He chooses to use his last ounce of consciousness wisely, and bring to life an image that once meant so much to him. As he closes his eyes for the final time, and the last breath escapes his trembling lips, you're on his mind.