Extract from Derek Raymond, I Was Dora Suarez:
A dizzying series of happenings occurred. The upper part of Roatta's head entirely disappeared; it vanished in a red screen of exploding blood and bone, and when that cleared away, there was nothing left of his head at all except his lower jaw, from which a sly tongue with things running off it dropped sloppily over his chin like a grass trying to sell a phone number. Roatta now resembled some mad orchid - its perimeter decorated with gold fillings in the front but just National Health amalgam in the molars, which didn't cost much and didn't show - or else you could compare him to a wobbling great egg cup if you liked, the red bowl of his throat a squalid crown for the rest of him, which still leaned attentively forward in its real leather armchair. At the same time his brains were beginning to run down his tasteful walls and slide across the glazing of his well-chosen pictures, a block of hard matter that had been in what was his nose while he had one whirred flatly through the air and went whack! onto an occasional table like the hand of one of those very determined women that want an immediate divorce - except that the hand was bright green. Meanwhile, other splinters of Roatta's head, bone, a lot of liquid matter, marrow, stuff that a team of twenty top surgeons would have a hard time putting a name to, rang, splashed, slid and pattered round the room; they rained onto the vulgar, expensive furniture, into the cushions that Roatta had been so worried about, onto the carpet, where they presented as showers of crimson sick - Christ, the bits rained down just about everywhere.