Haunting shadows of death crept upon me in a fading state of sunlight. The September afternoon granted me some comforting warmth, though I lay in the grass in an unsettling state of emaciation. The thirst lingering dryly on my tongue would have been satisfied by the mucky pond water residual nearby. Passing out was the greatest sense of relief I will ever feel; my cries were silenced, and the soft glowing arms of death were wide open. My thirst was no longer overwhelming, and I was free. Unconsciousness does not know of betrayal. It gives itself thanks, for it is tired, and it is quiet.