Deep So, you died. You had taken a few more steps across the moss-infested slimy planks. They were roughly entwined, and heaved under even the subtlest weights, crackling with bursting air pockets. Your brown leather shoes were encrusted with dense pillows of mud, textured like the crust of a French baguette. As your feet took their final few half-hearted endeavours, you let your mind split it's cells, with a million minute thoughts, buzzing like bumblebees in grotesque, random patterns. You took one last step and collapsed into the earnest water - sticky with treacle-like silt, long reeds, buzzing with hideous plant-#life, grown disgustingly in clumps, never showing any signs of sleep. The waters were sickly sweet with the smells of nectar, freshly poured from the canopy above. Several judgemental sacks of sap collapsed on your head, concussing you with sudden jolts, as if someone were dropping a rubbish tip's worth of vases on your head. The sheer weight of the sap pushed you down Suddenly, from deep below the murky waters something grabbed your leg, and pulled, with a mighty strength, downwards. You peered to see, but another inexplicable being grabbed your head and pulled. You went under, and choked on the unsatisfying currents of the water. Enveloped in death, every crevice of your body, inside and out, was filled with the same, seemingly endless liquid. It seeped into every pore. Dying, drowning and wishing, you became the last to die on this galactic mission. And nobody would ever care, for to them you were merely a part in their machine. For all the years of building their rockets, you were only the part to make it go - the object to hit all the buttons, and no hard feelings if you died. Enveloped by this agonising thought, one-hundred billion miles from home, it all ended.