Day 14: I can hear them marching closer. Marching, always marching. I know it's only a matter of time. I lay here in this field, afraid to move. Dark, grey, wet. The ash from the distant fires washes everything grey. A sunless sky, blocked out by the smoke. Nights as black as pitch.

The tall grass hides my outline, but I'm far from safe. I don't sleep much anymore, when I do all I dream is death. Ghosts, blacker than the darkest of nights staring at me, watching, waiting for me to finally give my last breath.