You trail away. The sky is spinning a glowing vortex of radial star lines. You fall to the ground, arms sprawled behind your head, writhing as the universe hypnotizes you.  

You feel the grass growing over your face. Feel yourself sinking into the earth. Soft, warm, like the roots are veins, red brown dark, fertile, rich, fecund, churning with life.  

You think about your long life of fear. About waking up as a husk tomorrow. You clutch at the grass. It twists and tears in your hands and the dew feels like blood.

Like being dragged out of a deep pit where you've lived so long in isolation you no longer had any reference point, but now that you've seen the light and tasted clean air, you'd fight like a rabid animal to stay free.

You look around and you can't see your dead friend anywhere.