Although this is shorter than my normal shorts, and really take, death warning in this one, just to be safe. This was a prompt given to me.

He gave up today.

A trembling Wes sat huddled by what was a poor excuse for a fire. For weeks he had been out in this wilderness, collecting any measly supplies he could get his hands on, fighting monsters that only existed in his nightmares, and constantly on the move, looking for any place that could be remotely called safe.

With the chill of winter beating on his back, and the hollow pit that was now his stomach, Wes let out a heavy sigh. The mime was on the brink of no return. His clothes hung off his body, joints boney and painful, and for days now he had been seeing hallucinations, which didn't help the herculean task of trying to think clearly in this state. Face wincing in pain, he brought his knees to his chest and hugged them.

How, or why he was here, he had no idea, or at least he couldn't remember. Things were becoming muddled in his mind. The only real memory he could vividly recall was Maxwell greeting him when he awoke in this strange place.

Wes frowned deeply as he gazed into the fire. Today he accepted his fate. He never strayed from the fire, keeping in constantly burning from the previous night with every resource he had left. At this point the heat was the only comfort he had in this world.

Lowering his head onto his knees, a final sigh escaped his lips.

...

"Say Pal, you don't look so good."