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puddle of water floated on the mud. I walked on, oblivious, and before I had a chance to comprehend what was happening, the earth swallowed me up. I sank swiftly. Shocked and in panic, I found myself up to my waist in bog. I went into a frenzy, like a trapped animal, screaming, trying to get out, but the mud was thick and sticky, and I couldn't move. My walking stick cut through it like a hot knife through butter and was of no help at all. I reached out to some reeds and bushes, stretching my body and arms in their direction. I tried pulling myself out by them, but they came loose in my hands. I continued sinking slowly.

I came out of my convulsive throes and calmed down. I tried to act rationally. I stuck my hands down deep into the mud, wrapped them around one knee and tried to force one leg up out of the mud. I pulled with all my might, but to no avail. It was as if I had been set in concrete. I couldn't budge. I wanted to cry again but felt only a thick lump in my throat.

So this is it, death. I end my life in this bog.

I was resigned. I knew that I didn't have the strength to get myself out, and no power in the world would reach down and pluck me out of the swamp.

It would be a slow, horrible death. The mud was already up to my belly button. The pack rested on the mud, and I was relieved of its weight. Suddenly I had a brilliant idea. I would commit suicide. I took the pack from my shoulders and