S.O.S. This is my cry for help. I’m knee-deep in think mud. I’m in big trouble. I can no longer be saved, but they can. I just need help- I’m up to my knees in trouble. I thought it would be a harmless joke, gesture, whatever. But look at me now- mud splattered on me like blood on a murderer. But they are still clean- free of blood, I mean mud. I need help, but this help is not for me.
They need it. They crave freedom from the cage they did not earn. Please help them. You will need to wade into this bloody- I mean muddy- prison which is now my home. Bring a rope, and tie one end to a tree. Make sure it’s sturdy. You’re going to need strength. I hope you can save them- you’re the only one I can trust. You will try, right? I do hope so. Do you have any courage left? Good. You’re going to need it. Just save them, it’s not their mess. Not mine either, I suppose. But I claim it. I’ll not give up on them yet. I’ve always held so strong, I don’t plan on giving it up now. I’ve always tried to be there for my friends, even if they weren’t- and still aren’t- there for me.
I never really do anything for myself anymore. So, even now, as the mud is coming to my waist, please save them. I don’t need it. Besides, if you saved me, I’d end up back here anyway. Just leave me. They wouldn’t come back. At least, not by choice. I choose to be here, kind of.
This mud is my sworn enemy, my promised friend. The only thing you can do for me now is save them. They don’t need to be here. They shouldn’t be. I still care about them. They’re still clean.
And, before you leave me, my friend, promise me one thing: Don’t save me.