He's still conscious. That's gotta be - some kind of a fuckin' joke, Ben thinks, his mind confused, scrambled inside of itself, slippin' between cornfields and tree. He's half-sittin' half-lyin' against th'bark but there shouldn't be bark there, shouldn't be - shouldn't be a fuckin' tree in th'middle of a field. He thinks lightning but can't move, can't fuckin' move anymore, can't do a thing but lie here and hopepray that th'wetness on his cheeks is rain and not tears.

It hurts.

It fuckin' hurts and his body won't let go. He just fuckin' wants t'die, he's done what's gotta be done and he just wants to go. His breathing comes ragged, desperate, tears itself outta him. He chokes, coughs on blood. His hands scramble at th'tree bark and it just hurts so fuckin' bad and he can't take it anymore so he digs his fingernails in and just

opens

himself up. Life comes coursin' in, from th'tree hell he c'n feel it dyin' under him but it don't help th'pain, it don't help nothin except that he has his voice back and he screams. He can't help it, hates himself for it but the cry comes tearin' all ragged'n'raw outta his throat as he slides closer t'th'ground, eyes wide, head rockin' back to hit the hard wood behind him because it ain't fair it just ain't fuckin' fair he don't want this, he just wants to die...

Lightnin' flashes. A figure, coming towards him, runnin' hard. A cowboy hat. Blonde hair.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no, no, but he can't do anythin', what he took outta th'tree used up in th'scream and all he c'n do is try t'turn his head from her 'cause he knows, now, those'r tears creepin' down his cheeks.