She stares down at the dead face of her boyfriend, Travis Stoll. The whole camp is mourning. The whole camp is sobbing. The whole camp is gone, in her mind.

Travis is gone, gone, gone. There's a hole. A big, dark hole. It's swallowing her up. He'll never be there for her again, he's dead, not breathing, not living, not pranking.

He'll be buried six feet under, unlike regular traditions. He won't talk, won't see, won't smell, won't hear, won't taste, won't feel.

He'll be in Elysium, watching over her, waiting. She wants to see him now, now, now. She wants to see him now, not soon, not never, not in a few days. Now.

She doesn't care that the whole camp watches her cry, because they're not there. Travis is. He is. He has to be. He will be. He's in his cabin, laughing with his brother and planning his next prank.

She knows her fantasy is so wrong; he's right in front of her, stiff as a board from the way they positioned his body. She reaches out and moves his arms and hands to what would be a more comfortable position if he could feel it.

She pulls her hand back slowly, but it returns to his body. She caresses his face, and her tears fall silently on Travis' cheek. Her hand slides down to his stomach, where her futile attempts at holding sobs in fail. Her tears fall freely, huge sobs racking her now-skinny frame.

Her light, lively green eyes are gone; they're dull green, the light gone forever. He was so good, why did he have to go? Did the Fates hate her and him?

She runs. Away from Travis, away from his coffin. She enters her cabin and slams the door. She slides down the door, her face buried in her arms. She wishes it were his arms suddenly, and the thought leaves her sobbing loudly on the cabin floor.

He's gone. The thought echoes incessantly in her head, tearing her heart in two. Her thoughts are all wrong; death and love and hate and damn, she doesn't want to live anymore. She stops.

Her thoughts whirl and twist and turn in her head until it forms one coherent thought; die. A sense of relief floods her face as a picture of Travis with his arms spread wide enters her mind.

She takes her Celestial Bronze knife, and sticks it out. The light catches the reflective knife, and it takes on a wicked glint. Suddenly, she's scared. But again the picture of Travis enters her mind.

And then another, of him telling her not to do this. But the picture of him with his arms spread takes over the other, and she's left confident in what she's about to do.

She rolls up her sleeve to reveal her wrist, and grips her knife tightly. A light slash at first across her wrist, before creating a total of fifteen or sixteen slashes on her small wrist.

The red blood flows freely and she staggers before succumbing to the inevitable. A weird and content smile overtakes her face, and she's gone.

Later, when they find her and wipe away the blood from her wrist, her cut wrist spells 'TRAVIS.'