It is always the longest time. The minutes crawl forward on raw hands and bloodied knees, digging grimed nails into tough Earth. They drag me along with them, face down, heavy chest pressed to half hard mud, cold but warm. My own breath swirls in the air around me, but to my lungs it will not come, a ghost lost. I look at the clock, a soldier ticking on, exhausted and unsure of the point. The world shrugs.