Swamp Scream and Ice
The opressive heat, the swamp noise, was no match for his exhaustion.
Benotz jumped out of the water and sat on a log on the swamps edge, the air clinging to his skin like the weight in his chest. He lit up a cigarette and let out an enormous scream. The sun was harsh in his eyes, but clouds were building up in the afternoon heat. Benotz punched against the coarse stump, skinning his knuckles. Sucking at the blood and grumbling, he laid down, placing his head on the small pack he'd been traveling with, shielding his eyes with his arm. The opressive heat, the swamp noise, was no match for his exhaustion. He succumbed to uneasy sleep.