It’s cold and dark in the woods and I wonder if this is what it’s going to feel like when I’m finally dead— like a stupid unfeeling unthinking unnoticed tree. I’m hoping to feel nothing. Übernothing. I’m hoping that I merely cease to exist. What dreams may come? Hamlet and Lauren would ask. None, I’m betting. None. Hellfire is not in the plans. Heaven is not in the plans. Cold and dark are not in the plans. Übernothing. That’s what I want. Nothing.