My breath is loud.  Too loud.  Like the sound of wind blowing strongly through the air.  I can't catch my breath.  I lean over, resting my hands on my knees, to hold myself up.  In, out.  In, out.  Slow breathes.  No panting, don't make any noises that could be heard.  No one can find you, I tell myself.
I look up at my surroundings.  There's a break in the think dense forest, here.  In front of me is a pond, large, and yet still small enough that I can see the shore on the other side.
Why, why, why?  Why have I committed this horrible act of treason, against my very own soul.  In my fit of anger I violently through the vile object in my hands into the pond.  There is a ripple where it breaks the shimmery surface, like a heartbeat, very fast at first, but then slower, until the heartbeat is gone, the ripple dispersed.
I walk down to the point where sand turns to water, submerge my hands into the lukewarm liquid.  The color that stained my hands only moments ago, now leaks into the water, coloring it, until, like my mind, it is rusted.
I stand up from the squatting position I was in, wringing out my hands.  The bright sun beats down on me, and I look up at the giant red sphere, millions of miles away.
Suddenly I am reminded of how small and inconsequential I am.  In a hundred years no one will remember what I have done.  My life is nothing but a small flash in the existence of our universe.