In those woods, I still remember the odours. The moistened bed where I chose to sleep. Surrounded by my own crimson liquor of existence, I started to to fade in history. At that moment, Only the sound of pulsations through my arms consolidated my seclusion. Anesthetized by fury and desolation, I inflicted myself capital retribution. As the leaves were coloured with my constitution, Grief and lamentations suited me with astonishing cold. As the dark sky vanished before my eyes, Fragments of consciousness could only illustrate parcels of this affair. I sadly can't restore every event in it's respective time: Agitated voices, strident sirens and blistering pain in both arms.