Freewrite: Brillig

Today's topic, courtesy of some bloke no one cares about: "We all know the famous poem about Humpty Dumpty sitting on that brick wall. The Kings horses and the kings men...failed to put him back together. What we don't know is, what they did with poor old Humpty after his fall?" ------------ He ... the man, the one without a name, watched them from behind the wall, stepping all over the yolk, egg shells crushed beneath their feet. Humpty wasn't dead, not yet. He was breathing heavily, in short sharp bursts and cried out in strained, painful moans as the horses clumsily stood on the shattered remains of his body. He choked on his own yolk, not dead, not ever dead. The sergeant had scooped up the top part of the shell where his small eyes and bizzare beaklike mouth were. He was scooping up pieces of egg in a vain attempt to save the beloved character. The queen's favourite, the court jester and poet. The sergeant recalled with a tear Humpty's famous nonsense poem. Twas brillig and the slithey tothes did gire and gimble in the wabe And the man, unknown, seen only in the shadows, laughed to himself, and carried on in his way