They peel back your skin. As they do, soil fills the space behind their fingernails. Maggots begin to crawl up their arms. I don’t flinch. I can’t, because if I do, I know that they will see me. One of them looks around; its eyes pale and grey. I almost gag as they tear you apart. They take no care with your body, throwing shreds of your skin into the wet mud surrounding you. They don’t seem to want to eat you, but many of them move close to you, inspecting your bloody flesh with great curiosity. I’m confused, and do not understand their inquiry into your rotting body, which isn’t really yours anymore. A single tear runs down my face. I shut my eyes, and wait, wanting them to leave so that I can too. It is in my waiting that I experience a hopelessness and hopefulness that makes no sense whatsoever. I open my eyes, to see a bloody mess, red, red, red, and the reflection of the moon in the black stone that hangs from a silver chain around your neck.