I’m in a shallow hole, not filled with the humming orange bubbles of my hallucination but with old, dead leaves.

Because I'm selfish. I'm a coward. I'm the kind of girl who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn't follow to suffer and die.

I drink in his wholeness, the soudness of his body and mind. It runs through me like the morphling they give me in the hospital, dulling the pain of the last weeks.

if i win and you die, i dont have a home to go back to. you are my life.

I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I'm so grateful that he's here, not dead by the stream as I'd thought. So glad I don't have to face Cato alone.

Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes, and when again they open, the sun will rise.