He is cold, alone, thirsty, hungry and scared shitless.
This was supposed to be easy. He got this idea of a poetic sort of self-directed death from the internet.
Off into the bush taking wild turns, keeping his eyes down for miles, to ensure he’d be way beyond lost.
But he hadn’t counted on the unmedicated pain from his cancer, and the added torture of thirst and hunger.
Now he knows the blog is wrong, but he has no way of posting his personal review online. There’s no wi-fi signal out here.