I was sitting alone behind a scorched huge old log. I knew it was a valley, but couldn’t remember where it was. There’s no path or direction because, as far as I could see was, everything had burnt. Paths had burnt. There was no green grass, no flowers and no bush, no trees but charred woods without leaves . Above me, there was plenty of dark clouds covering the skies dimming the entire place. I was hearing nothing; it wasn’t muteness, it’s only too quiet, the place is silent and deserted, except for the amplified noise of the distant thunder every now and then.
There’s not much can be remembered. All I know was, I’ve lost my backpack, I’ve lost my handbag, I’ve lost my wallet. And there was just nothing left but the clothes I wore. I had lost everything and I got nothing to continue.
I looked at myself, alone, exhausted, cold, tired and weary. I was running out of courage and strength. There was nothing to eat, nothing to drink. While I didn’t know where I was, I did not know where to go. All I was doing is sitting down, with knees placed on my chest and arms fold around my feet, sheltering myself from wind and cold.
Day after day, year after year, I had been living in that horrible valley doing nothing, moving nowhere, meet nobody, exactly as bored as it is. Even the cloud had never been raining for years, you could not see the sun and forgot how warm it is, and you could not enjoy the rain and forgot how happy it is.