A Fading Dream

As he gasped in the mud, there lays a certain someone. A man who's eyes are glazed over.
As he draws to his last breathes, his hands turning cold. Numb to the chilling ground. His ears starting to slowly drum with ringing and the world starting to slowly grow more of a vignette. The color draining around him, the gap slowly growing further and further. He felt his stomach and rolled his fingers together gently, almost like a child. His eyes made out a dark, black, viscous fluid.
"What does red look like again?"
His words were soft and low, almost inaudible to the untrained ear.
"So.. here I am.."
Lost.
Alone.
Broken.
Reflecting on one particular event, a sort of unspoken, but deeply grounded history.
He slowly shut his eyes.
Now most would just count him dead now, wouldnt they? But Im the narrator of this story.
His story.
This man, laying on the ground has a little tale behind him.
And by god, is it a tale.