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...only the dust is left for me to breathe. Now there is nothing else that can invigorate my lungs. Slowly it seeps in, merging with the little saliva that remains to become an annoying paste I can't even swallow. The useless air traveling through my throat is heavier. Everywhere it goes, it hurts. It burns. And the dust only serves to fuel my suffering...
...how I wish I could stop breathing. How long it takes for death to take over me. Every jolt is a shock and every cough echoes in my stomach like an explosion. The energy I had gathered for the battle is slowly leaving me adrift. Traitor! Even the blood, deceitful, is betraying my trust. Silently, like a thief, it prefers to seize the first gap inflicted on me by the enemy to abandon me. Scoundrel! What could it find so interesting in traveling my weary skin only to lie among grains of dirt and white pebbles...
...I am starting to not feel my legs anymore. A sort of relief is rising through once-tense nerves. Perhaps it will unite with the other reliefs that set off from every end of my body to concentrate at the heart where an electric shock will make it burst. It feels like I hear water. As if I were involuntarily immersing myself in a large basin. But it is not a relaxing bath. No water is refreshing my spirit...
...I feel heavy. What still moves of my body is falling with boredom to one side. My strong arm is still resisting this avalanche of free-falling muscles. The weak one has now joined what I stopped perceiving to find itself in a shapeless mass. The heart continues to beat but in vain. Pulsing, with a few more aches, it favors the swift escape of the ignoble blood...
...I can barely see my broken sword trying to imitate me. What a blinding vision. I have some flashes of optical clarity left to contemplate that wounded blade before it becomes an insignificant mixture with blood and dust. The last active muscles allow me to furrow my brows and clench my now shriveled lips. I no longer even feel those mustaches that distinguish me from warriors of other lands. My torque, ever faithful, has turned into a noose. Even it has turned its back on me. I feel it tightening to conquer my possessions more easily. What presumption, what greed, what unhealthy craving...
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