Imagine:

You are running through a forest. Surrounding you are lush green trees with branches that extend well above the clouds. The trees obstruct your view of the sky, but you know from the fast fading light that the sun is setting. The night air is cool and crisp. The only sound is the dull thud of your feet on the soft forest floor, pounding out a steady beat as you whisk pass the trees around you. You are sweating profusely and your breath comes in short, shallow gasps; you need a rest badly, yet you do not stop running. Why? Perhaps it's the rain, from which you seek shelter. Or maybe it's the pack of growling wolves nipping at your heels. Now that you've noticed them, you can feel their breath on your neck and can hear the menace in their growls; if you make one false move, you slow down or you trip and fall the wolves will eat you alive.
But maybe it isn't even the wolves. Maybe it's the unbearable heat. You need to find water soon, or you may die of heat stroke. Wait a moment, heat? The evening which was once cool and soothing is now a hellish inferno, looking ahead you notice a bright, orange light. A warm gust of wind hits you full in the face and suddenly every tree near by is on fire, the flames jumping high into the air. The rain is still falling, but it isn't putting out the flames. You feel itchy, and uncomfortable, your skin feels raw. You scratch at your arm and as you do, skin starts to peel off. You stare now at the back of your hand where a rain drop has fallen. With a sinking feeling you notice the skin turning red and peeling away from your flesh. Acid rain.
Why are you even in this forest in the first place, you wonder? And then you remember. You're looking for the clift at the end of the woods. The one which you were planning to throw yourself off of. You were hoping for an easy, controlled death. You would have held the reins for once. People would remember you as the person who killed themself. In death you would be both less boring and less bored than you were in life.
But now, you're going to die. In the moment in which you considered the rain and the fire, the wolves have caught up to you. The fire has spread to every nearby tree, and the rain is still coming down hard. It won't be the easy, controlled death you were planning on. You're going to die, alone and in pain. No one will remember you and no one will be interested in your story. But that's nothing new, because no one ever cared.