I collapse to the sun-baked earth, having just extracted myself from the the crippled wreck that was my grandfathers old truck. Clearly the engineers at Land Rover did not test whether their 'all-terrain' 4x4 could withstand careening over the edge of a cliff, then plummeting bonnet first into a dusty, rocky ravine. Well, it appears I have done them a huge favour. From my very thorough and accidental research, I have found that the answer is a resounding no.
It's a miracle that I even survived the crash. Nose-diving at full speed into a hot-bed of spiked boulders of all shapes and sizes isn't usually something you'd expect to come out alive. It seems this spectacular miracle has been rendered pointless anyway, as I have spent the remains of my dwindling energy dragging myself away from the now pancake-flat cab of the truck. I don't think I can call it a truck anymore; it looks more like a large tin can that has been thrown into a blender.
It is less than likely that I am to survive, especially as both my legs have been viciously twisted like fleshy pipe cleaners - so walking to find help isn't really an option. My left arm rests at a peculiar angle, the fingers bending across one another in ways that are definitely not natural; and the pain. Oh, the pain. It threatens to consume my entire body in it's fiery grip, slowly sinking my mind into tortured madness. Patrick, my faithful dog who somehow has also survived the sudden disaster, lies beside me, whimpering like a kicked puppy. A deep gash decorates the side of his throat, oozing crimson at a fatal rate. I reach out my right arm (the only limb still capable of movement, however painful that movement may be) and lay may hand over the gruesome wound, a feeble attempt to prevent the life of my loyal companion from draining out onto the crusted mud.
I begin to think of my imminent death as a welcome reprieve, and I feel the veil of unconsciousness slide over me as I gaze up at the cloud-spotted sky. A sinister horde of black shapes circle under the glare of the sun, the vicious vultures that will undoubtedly swoop in to render Patrick and I to nothing but dust when the time comes.
I can feel it coming now, like a police siren slowly growing louder and louder until it's blaring right inside your eardrums. My lungs breath their last breath, my eyes blink their last blink, and finally, unceremoniously, my heart beats it's last beat. This is it; I am dead.
Or so I thought.