The branches try to grab me as I run, glossy leaves rip at my skin. Thorns and unseen briars pierce with anguish. What to do? What do I do? I look up, the sky is bright, it flickers, gone, falling. I can’t see it anymore. Which path do I take, with no light to guide me? At the river, I can’t choose a path. Mud encases my ankles and drags me down, down, to the heart of the earth. I should have chosen. Heat wells up on my legs, eating me alive. Screams can’t be heard so far under. Dirt fills my lungs. I push through the blackness. The earth spits me out like a child eating vegetables. My hands are covered in the truth: the wrong choice is not choosing at all. I run to the path. Tears sprinting down my cheeks. We made it, but at what cost?