Critical, creative and digital writingEcriture critique, créative et numérique

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I'm exhausted. I've been walking for hours. I'm thirsty, hungry, there's nothing to feed me. My legs are sore, my back also, my mind is sour, I realise slowly that there's nothing but emptiness around me. I feel heavy, as if burning nails were branding my guts. At each breath, the surrounding smoke fills my lungs with sparks of iron. Gradually, my breath gets cut. Each new thought is like a hot knife on my skin stung. I glance around me. I feel a breeze from behind. I turn my head, too late. I'm already blasted in the air, by an earth-cracking blow up. And then only the shock grinds my ears. After some time, I sit up. Blood on my face from my ears. In this vastness of space, silence resonates like the wind. I can't hear no more. I can't smell nothing. Negation of sense becomes my life. I'm dying. In the vastness, my life is dust. Only my will remains. Not for long. My eyes close. Darkness I see. Alone, lonely, I feel tears running along my face. They smell like salt. I lie. I die.