I sat on the hill, and watched the sunrise. The sky was on fire, swirling darkness and light.
I could see the shine of their torches peeking through the trees, like the bright eyes of curious children. They were coming for me.

Smoke rose up like crooked fingers, caressing the clouds, beckoning the morning to come closer.
A new day to end all others.

“This will be the end of me.” I said to the dirt, hoping for a reply. None came.
I was left with my thoughts so I thought of her, in bed alone, sleeping peacefully.
It was better that way.

When they find me, I will be at the bottom of that hill, as burned as that sky, silent as the earth, struggling for life. When they find me, they will ask if I want to live in voices like static. When they find me, it will hurt to hear them, hurt to talk when I reply.

I still don’t know what I told them.