My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring?
Below me, on the ground, lies a slush of partially digested rehydrated noodles. They look like little wriggly white maggots, moving in the dirt. Either my vision is still blurry from the pain of vomiting, or the fever has finally gotten the best of me, because I swear to god, those suckers are squirming.