Darkness.
Silence, so still that only a thin heart beat is faintly heard and tiny gas bubbles raising to the surface.
An eye lid flutters open, everything is black and cloudy, it slowly goes back and forth and then widens.
No oxygen.
Panic, a sudden seizing of moment and then thrashing, hands raise above and claw at the thick muddy water, then legs began to kick up.
The fighting, the squeezing of lungs ready to burst, then the thin orange and pinkish rays of sunlight piercing through the mud covered surface.
Pulls up and...reached it, bursting out splashing mud and water everywhere. A loud gasping and crying sound fills the morning fields, he sinks down again and claws back up, thrashing his arms to keep afloat.
Mud and water are in his eyes, making everything distorted and blurred. Water sprays and splashes and then he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.
He's in the ditch.
Fifteen feet he fell, water deep enough to go over his head, filled with mud, sticks, leaves, and black bark.
A million smells fill his nose, he kicks again to keep afloat, and starts to blink and gasp again for air.
His hair is matted in his face, he's soaked from head to toe, and he sees the now turning colors of the sky, meaning dawn has just approached. Everything seems to early and cold, in fact his breath is coming out in heavy clouds each time he takes a deep enough breath to keep himself from passing out.
The sky will be turning a silver blue, and then the birds will wake up.
He keeps moving his arms and looks around, all four sides of the deep ditch are sloping mud caked walls, showing roots and stones that were once dug deep inside the earth.
In fact one side the wall slops down enough it serves almost as a shore, he goes to start over to it when a stinging pain flashes over his body and he snaps his eyes shut and screams.
He goes under water again and then pops right back up, he gasps for air and then looks, his eyes become wide and he sees it.
He's been shot.
Right in the upper right shoulder, a few inches away from his chest, the bullet went clean through, but his flesh is torn apart, where the cloth of his jacket and shirt were, are torn open, nerves and chunks of his flesh hang down as dark purple blood, mixed with the dirty mud and water trickle down his shirt and soak into his T-shirt.
The pain comes again, this time it's worse and he hisses out in pain, his eyes water up and he looks at the wound again, he's bleeding pretty bad, in fact it doesn't look like it has any chance of letting up.
He uses his free hand while kicking his feet deep down in the water and tries to over the bullet hole, he squeezes and more pain comes, blood oozes out between his fingers, this time it's thick.
He lets go and stares at his hand, it's soaked in blood, which reflects off his dark eyes and onto the water.
He then swims and shifts his weight over to the slope of the wall, he drags himself half way out of the water and feels sweat pour down his face.
The second he laid down on the slope, he felt himself sink down a little, it's soft black looking mud, and everything squishes.
His legs still dangle in the water, he takes a minute and rests his head on it's side, letting the cool mud press softly onto his skin.
He checks his wound again and sees more blood bubble up, it hurts like hell...in fact the pain is starting to numb around his arm...that isn't good.
He closes his eyes and tries to control his breathing, he never felt pain like this before, sure in the movies it looked cool, but this time it was for real, and this time it was happening to him.
He must have laid there for almost ten minuets before the sky became lighter and the pain started to dull, he shifted his weight and like clock work it came again.
His face was pale as milk, and his lips were a gray blue color.
The blood was now sticky and stained his cloths that stuck to him like a second skin, he was freezing and knew if he didn't get out of this ditch soon, he was going to bleed to death.
That's when a low sounding voice told him to get up, that he could so this, that he really didn't wanna die here alone.
But he kept laying there, thinking that maybe he wasn't like Michael, maybe he didn't have the life's of a cat...maybe, just maybe this was going to be it.
"GET UP!" the voice in his head screamed, and without a second thought he opened his eyes again and then took a deep breath.
With that he shifted his weight again and turned over on one side, he then lifted his upper body and reached out his hands to take hold on the side, he dug his fingers as deep as they could into the cool damp feeling soil, and then started to kick and dig his boots into the soft sinking ground.
Water splashed and slowly he lifted himself up, he took a breath and felt his head get light, he tried his best to shake it off, since the pain was getting worse, in fact it started to hurt so bad again he felt as if his eyes were going to roll back into his head and fall backwards into the water.
But he couldn't something pushed him inside.
He stood there and reached his hands as high as he could above his head and dug his fingers into the sides again, he grabbed for roots to take hold onto and then used all his strength to slowly pull himself up.
His boots kicked into the mud and he gritted his teeth, growling in deep pain as he found a foot hold and reached out with a free hand to grab hold of another part of the wall.
He dug his boots in and knew due to his height this wasn't going to take long, he just needed to find a pace and stick to it.
He climbed and climbed, clawing and digging, almost slipping twice, but trying his best to hoist himself further up.
The pain was gone now, all he cared about was making it to the top, it reminded him so much of gym back in middle school when they had to climb those ropes, how all the students cheered and how good it felt to reach the top and slide all the way down with rope burn on your palms.
But this was different, it was a matter of life and death, and the only goal he wanted was to stay alive, cheering or not.
He then reached out and felt the soft grass of the field, he squinted and used his other arm and dig into the harder ground where he stood with Utopia on the edge moments before he was shot and was sent flying backwards.
He reached out further, took a good hold and then used all his strength to pull himself up, he dragged his body and legs as if they had no moment left and rolled over to safety and laid on his back.
His fingernails were bloody and torn open, his hands and arms were caked black with mud, his clothes were stained and soaked with blood and water, he was covered in dirt and sweat and gasped up into the mid morning air for relief.
He just laid there in the tall milk high grass and looked up at the sky, he had made it.
And it was morning.