I  stumble through the mist short of air and bloody.

My hair is wet from the rain, my heart is pounding in fear of what's next to come. SHCRAACK! The crunch and crackle of metal striking metal and glass shattering echoes in the air. This is the end of times. I am in a war zone, lost in the chaos—my senses abandoned to frantic emotion. Whatever adrenaline was meant to kick-in, hasn't. I hear what sounds like a faint whistle increasing in my ear to a loud excruciating screech as a massive gust of wind blows beside me and I briefly see an object graze my side. It shoots past my shoulder. I turn to make out what it was; but before my eyes can even adjust focus, they are blinded by heat and light.

I awake.

My eyes open only to cower back into their lids. The sun is bright hot and I can feel it on my face. Even with my eyes closed, I can tell I am being carried on a gurney. I let the pain settle in and take another attempt at opening my eyes. This time the pain is more bearable. As my eyes open, I see two soldiers carrying me, but I can't make out the colors or the emblem on their uniforms.

"She is awake" says one.

"Lucky her" says the other sarcastically.

He's right. I go back to sleep hoping not to wake up.