Andrew was hungry.

He had been on the field self-pitying himself for nearly a whole day.

He was exhausted; exhausted from the lack of sleep. The nightmares didn't let him close his eyes, there wasn't even a second before the horrible sight of his brother's lifeless body made him want to follow in his footsteps.

He couldn't stand the guilt chasing after him like he was some sort of a price it had to win.

Andrew had finally realized the gravity of his current situation– he had no food, no water. He had even lost his shoes somewhere; he didn't know how, but he did.

He was cold. The wind had turned into a harmless breeze, just like his emotions ceased to a hollow feeling in the centre of his chest. The rain had stopped; the sky couldn't cry for much longer. The sun had showed up, now bathing the fascinating scenery in soft light.

He wiped his tearstained cheeks with the end of his sleeve; maybe that way the evidence of his momentary vulnerability would be erased. His eyes were all puffy and red, screaming at him to close them, so he can get some sleep.

But he couldn't. His mind seemed to wander to places he didn't want it to. He had those terrifying flashbacks haunting him like a very persistent ghost with a terrible sense of humour.

He just wanted to rest. He was tired; tired of dealing with the storm of emotions, the tsunami of tears, the volcano of anger.

He wanted to lay down, preferably in a bed, and sleep his problems away like he usually did.

And then, he got an idea. He would go find his way back to civilization even though he would have to walk hundreds of kilometres. He had to get his life together. He had left himself to grieve enough for a lifetime.

He would get better, with or without any help from anyone.