Forget Me Not, Dear Child
Image - Shutterstock June 1 st , Indeterminate year To My Dearest Jennifer, The hunger ravaging my body is indescribable. It brings with it feelings that I had never known before. Somehow, as I sit here and write to you, my dear, I feel as if I am existing outside my body. My soul is leaving it, so I don’t have much time left. My fingers feel like mush, my eyes flutter at the sunlight, and the blood inside me stings my tongue. My skin is pricking with a thousand cuts and blisters that throb as flies hover around me like vultures circling a dying meal. I have been condemned to my fate by these trees, these tall trees that drew me in with their elegant, graceful, long trunks that now are prison bars hemming me in. My bag of food has been empty for a few days now, and my water bottle is only worth a few gulps. Not enough to keep a man alive, but perhaps enough to give him a modicum of strength to write his last sentiments. I wouldn’t wish for you to see me like this, Jennifer...
