I began to be unable to distinguish the boundary between dreams and reality. Could the decades I had experienced be a bright moment flashing through a cloud of smoke when a match was lit? Could the dream I spent in confusion and fear be a corner of the desolate forest on the other side of the fog? I seemed to be living in a drop of water. Outside was a barbaric land where the walking dead were killing each other. Inside the drop of water was a mist, and I was inside it, gradually suffocating to death.