Vince is tired and dirty, weeks of crawling through forests, fighting from house to house have worn him out. He is the last one left from his platoon for sure, and maybe even from his company. He hasn't seen anyone from his side in this damned war for the past 4 days and he isn't even sure where he is.
Stopping at the edge of the woods, he sees a lone farmhouse in front of him, it seems deserted, no windows, some boarded up, nothing laying around in the yard. He watches for what seems like forever, before making his way across the yard.
Walking across the yard, he reaches the porch and is finally overcome. The lack of sleep for days, the deprivation of food and water, it all catches up to him and he collapses on the porch, his head hitting the wood with a dull thud.
As Vince lays there, he starts to dream. Not a dream like he had before any of this stuff happened though. It's funny how your dreams change when your life changes. No longer does he dream about women, his dreams lately have been about food and about water.
In his dream, he is sleeping in a forest, an actual forest with trees and animals, not the wastelands he has become accustomed to seeing and being a part of. And as he sleeps, it starts to rain, a gentle rain, more than a mist, but not a downpour. The water clings to branches above him, slowly dripping off of leaves and onto his lips, slowly moistening them, and gradually wetting his tongue as well.
After enjoying the sensations of the dream, Vince starts to become aware, realizing that his mouth is moist, that he is getting water from someplace and that his head rests on something soft. He knows that he should be concerned, that he needs to do something, but he finds that he cannot, the malaise brought upon him by weeks of limited provisions and constant movement and little sleep are overwhelming. His eyes flicker and almost open, but instead sleep claims him again.