Her hand lay fallen on the blades of grass, not quite dead yet not alive either. To her, the world was a blur. A brown bug slowly shuffled across her arm. The sun had not yet appeared from behind the line of trees, and the cold night air still tugged at her clothes. The birds had begun to chirp, and her last day came. She twitched her hand, unable to move it. Catatonic. Another person pushed at he...