You retreat. You scamper into the woods. Your wounds start to hurt. They make you feel ill. You are dizzy and cannot keep your balance. You walk through the woods, aimlessly. You stumble. Your gait becomes a trudge. You cannot look up.

You fall.

You get back up.

Your eye hurts.

It goes dark.

You keep walking.

You fall again.

The other eye goes dark. You are blind.

You get up. You walk. You fall. You get up. You bump into a tree.

You fall one more time. You do not get back up. The last thing you think about is whether the tiny devils even cared. That thought is nearly lost as you almost gain a certain admiration in the bees’ personal sacrifices. You die before that can go into you mind, though.

You choose to…

• …die.