The worst part is acting like everything is okay. So much has already happened in the time I’ve been awake that it’s not even funny. My chest hurts like it’s been burned with boiling water. My throat feels like I’ve swallowed a hedgehog. But I’m in so much pain, but I can’t tell anyone. So instead I stay silent. I want to scream until my lungs collapse, and yet I stay quiet. I want to cry for help, and yet I stand here with a bone dry face.

Drink water. Drink water. Drink water. That’ll help for sure. Drink more water. Drink. It’s not working. Why isn’t it working. My legs hurt. I just noticed how much they hurt. It’s like each step I walk on a blade. People driving down the street are staring. They look mortified at the mere sight of me. I think I see the city. I cross the street, eager to find someone – anyone – to help me.

A trail of blood follows me as I walk away. Stealing his water wasn’t enough. I feel justified in what I did. He was trying to kill me first. If I hadn’t done it then he would have continued, I know it. But who would believe me? For all they know I cut my own neck. For all they know I sliced my own legs. That’s certainly what people on the road thought, that’s for sure. At least it wasn’t him who killed me. At least he can’t continue. Nobody would have believed me anyways.