Rick felt the dark brightening, light fighting it, trying to gain control, making things a tint of orange. Rick’s mind pondered on the light, thinking on the meaning, wondered where the dark had gone too. It took a while, longer than it should for Rick to realise he was merely staring at his closed eyes, illuminated by some unknown source. And when he did, he still didn’t open them, reveling in the moment of nothing, of feeling nothing, of being, nothing.

Like most things, reality came creeping in, ruining Rick’s perfect moment, bringing the reality of pain, thirst and cold, overwhelming and suffocating. At first, it wasn’t overwhelming, Rick even tried to brush it off. But with time, it came to overwhelm his mind, nothing but cold, pain and water being on the forefront of it. Rick threw his eyes open, blinded by the bright flame in the sky staring down at him, welcoming him back to the land of the light.

Rick blinked the welcome away, raising his arms up to wipe it off, immediately regretting the decision. His right arm exploding into million dots of discomfort and pain, feeling like forcing oneself to sit on a thousand needles, like a million ants biting, like a poisonous bush brushing against him. It was unbearably unpleasant, forcing Rick immobile, his arms held high, looking like a father holding one’s baby for the first time. Rick just had to force his eyes closed and bear the pain, waiting for it to ebb away, like stones in a river, like stars at night.

Each tiny movement bringing pain and suffering, being uncomfortable rather than painful, still painful. Rick wished for it to go away, wished for the thirst, pain and discomfort to wash away, begged for it. But Rick knew better, knew he was alone, knew not to trust the whims of the gods, knew himself being the emperor of his own life. So Rick forced himself, forced his right arm up to his eyes, eyes still blinded by the fire in the sky. Arm incredibly uncomfortable, not painful, still painful, like when one was not able to complete a puzzle, like a water droplet never falling, like having something to say but not being able to. Rick pushed through the discomfort, the unbelievable discomfort, and rubbed at his eyes. Blinking, Rick managed to stare up at the blue sky, dots of white marbles passing by, pleasant to look at if it were not for his bodies intense unpleasantrie and pain.

Rick tried to push himself up, the same pain as his arm had resonated in his stomach, less unpleasant, but still bad. He managed to push through it, strength of will like a boulder falling down the sky, splitting the earth that was Rick’s discomfort.

As he got up on his rump, very slowly and meekly, his right arm pressed down on the ground and feeling something wooden underneath it, even feeling it through the intense discomfort. Rick turned to look down, blinking in confusion as he saw an arm in a slight hue of pink where a pulp of meat and blood should be. His shirt non-existent from the shoulder down where his arm should be battered and crushed into a meat pie. Rick stared at it, blinking twice, thrice, staring at a red line that ran down his arm. An intense and weirdly bright red line running down from the top of his shoulder down to his middle finger, like a seam down a shirt, like a stream of water down a hill, like a knife through a steak.

It looked weird, unnatural, like someone had tried to sew his skin shut with his own blood, like someone had tried to glue his skin together with more of his skin. Yet, it was clean, perfectly straight and Rick could tell that with time, it would heal into a small slit, becoming a perfect scar.

Then Rick blinked, and wondered why he cared, his arm shouldn’t be there, it should be nothing, it should be meat, his body a stew for the larvae and flies of the earth. Rick turned to look down on his stomach, seeing it opened to the cold weather, opened to the world. Where clothes should cover his stomach there was nothing but bare, slight hue of pink skin. And like his arm, there was a line of red running diagonally, but smaller and two lines instead of one, running along his stomach. They were smaller, lesser than the one on his arm, barely visible in the morning flame.

Rick stared, stared at his stomach and arm, going from one to the other, as if trying to solve one of god's great mysteries, like a philosopher puzzling on the meaning of life. Rick knew not how long he pondered, only that he didn’t come up with a solution. He had even thought outlandish things such as angels coming down to save him, outlandish things he knew impossible. For he did not have any other solutions, explanations or answers. His guesses only gave him more questions, questions Rick really didn’t want to think about. Not now at least for his throat was parched and his body in pain.

Rick moved to raise his arm, barely noticing the wooden bump that had drawn his eyes in the first place. Underneath his hand, he saw Bob lying with his face faced upwards, an imitation of how Rick had been lying when he was unconscious. Rick blinked, twice then thrice, waiting for Bob to move. And as he didn’t, Rick realized him to be “dead”, life having left him like Rick thought his had. Rick bent down to infuse life, to breathe him back into this world, but stopped.

He remembered the knight, he remembered the warrior, remembered how much life they required and needed, scared that he might accidentally kill himself if he helped Bob. Rick continued staring, only for a moment, a moment overshadowed by a clear thought. Why would he ever not help Bob? Bob was his friend, even if he wasn’t real, and Rick wouldn’t leave his friends.

Rick bent down, touching Bob while letting his life ebb and flow, flowing mighty quick. For a second, Rick feared. The second passed, and the ebb stopped, Bob opening his eyes and smiling wide as he saw Rick. Giving Rick the same wonky but wholesome smile as Rick had grown to love, brightening Rick’s muddled mind, bringing comfort where dark had been.

Rick grabbed Bob, raising him close to his face, Bob stretching his arms forward like a child trying to grab a ball. Rick leaned his head closer, getting embraced by an awkward hug. Arms reaching for Rick’s ears, one reaching it, the other tickling his cheek. Rick made no moves to remove Bob, Bob made no moves to leave, the two staying like that even as Ricks throat screamed for water, screamed for something. Rick ignored it, letting himself bask in Bob’s pure and innocent embrace. Even if Bob wasn’t real, even if it was all a fantasy, Rick felt that he needed a hug.

Then a thought popped into his mind, more outlandish than the thought that the gods had saved him, even crazier than a mind broken in two, even scarier than a monster in the woods. Rick thought, What if, what if Bob had saved him? But dismissed the thought immediately, the thought too far-fetched, too crazy, too scary. Rick had known Bob for his entire life, not once had Bob showed an ability for magic, even if Rick had wished so, hoped so as a child many a times.

Rick slowly pushed Bob away, Bob losing his grip like a tick getting forcefully pulled out, like a pimple popped prematurely. Bob flailed with a sad expression, Rick patting the top of his head with his left hand, gesturing for him to calm down.

After patting him, Bob immediately calmed, smiling widely. Rick felt it prudent to place Bob in his shirt pocket, breathing out in relief as he saw it non-broken. Placing Bob there with a last pat, Rick looked down, dismayed that he couldn’t see his water bag fastened to his hip. A particularly strong wind blew past, his teeth shattering like rocks against rocks, his exposed arm and stomach like a funnel of icy cold winds. Rick breathed to calm his growing unease, fog coming out, like steam in a hot spring, like clouds in the sky.

Rick turned his visions up, covering his eyes with his left arm, right arm still too uncomfortable, like centipedes crawling just underneath his skin. The fire in the sky stared back, the two in a stand of, one trying to estimate the other's strength, the other where he should go. The fire didn’t give much indication, Rick knowing it would take at least an hour or more before he could get any real estimation of direction from it. But his crying throat and screaming body could not wait any longer. It needed water, and it needed it now.

Rick turned a full circle, searching for a nearby water source, seeing a small, very small, puddle just to the right of him. Walking up towards it, he fell flat on his face, his left arm managing to subside the fall somewhat, his right hanging like a lump of iron, his legs like pieces of stale bread.

Rick pushed himself up with his left arm, feeling it shaking violently, falling back down on his face. Moving his face away from the wet ground, Rick spat out weird tasting dirt and tried again. This time, he managed to get up slowly but surely. Once up, he moved with cautious grace, looking more like a drunk after a particularly heavy night of drinking. A journey that should only take seconds, took minutes, his body fighting against him with every step, body heavy like the biggest weight, empty like the biggest castle.

Eventually, he fought his way to the pond, even thirstier than before, even more parched than before, feeling like a dried piece of jerky. Bending down awfully quick, a small pang of pain on his knees, he bent partway with his face into the cold water. Immediately, he spat it out, tasting awful, salty and weirdly metallic. He felt himself gag, coughing soundlessly into the weird water.

As his coughing fit stopped, he stared down at the water, really stared, looked and searched for the reason of the foul taste. Quickly realizing that the water wasn’t just water but mixed with unknown flakes of something and the water tinted a slight hue of pink. Rick spat even more as he noticed, his spittle coming out like a drizzle, his body already empty of water.

Rick turned his face up, his mouth tasting foul, being the last of his worries. Breathing out, breath coming like fog on a morning day, the cold sticking to his wet face like glue to wood. Rick listened, listened intently, hoping for the tell-tale sound of water. And he heard it, he thought at least, like a distant memory. Rising on unsteady legs, Rick grabbed a nearby branch, moving up and over the small puddle, easier than going around. Moving towards where he thought the water was coming from.

He moved with empty legs, empty body and an empty throat. Distances that should take a single step, took three. He avoided using his right arm, avoided bending his stomach, each time he accidentally did, his face crunched down into one of awkward and intense pain, even if it wasn’t really pain. He moved for what felt like forever, but if the fire in the sky was any indication, maybe only minutes.

It took him several more minutes, enough time for Rick to recognize he was moving north before his eyes noticed a glimmer of a tiny stream. It was truly tiny, an ant colony could move over it without much trouble, yet it was like a sight from his youth’s wet dreams. He scrambled towards it, falling on all fours, still scrambling with the speed of a normal walking adult.

As Rick got to the tiny stream, he slurped up the tiny trickle of water, water mixing in with dirt, Rick not caring. The water continued flowing down, Rick slurping it all up, coming from somewhere unknown, Rick didn’t care. The water was cold, crystal clear and the most delicious thing he had ever tasted, like nectar from the first fruit, like rain in the realm of gods, like food after starving for months.

Eventually, Rick had to stop himself, worried that he might over-drink and accidentally kill himself. He breathed out, not realizing he had held his breath, feeling completely refreshed and filled. It was a truly splendid feeling, like a newborn baby, like a bath after being dirty for months. He reveled in it, taking in the moment, being a part of it, experiencing it with every sensation. Then a cold breeze flew in and Rick shivered uncontrollably, almost falling back on his rump because of the sudden shiver.

Casting his eyes up, he estimated how much time he had left, feeling like half a day had passed, maybe more. Then he scanned the tiny stream, eyes following the direction of where it floated, staring down it as he pondered if he should follow it.

But as his body stopped screaming for water, as the cold wasn't too unbearable, his mind flared to light. Flared him a image of a lying boy, of a dead monster, of a failure. And Rick felt his body going awfully heavy.