This was written in an answer to a prompt: Write a story where the character can't see anything. The idea is to use the other senses to describe the scene to the reader.
My voice was a hoarse croak, barely audible to my own ears. My bare feet slapped down on the rough hard surface, cracks and rocks buried in the sand made me stumble. I waved my arm in front of me, recoiling when I felt streamers from the trees brush against me. The softness was startling after more than a week wandering in a rocky prison.
Weaker now, I stumbled and fell, not feeling the edge of the overhang until I was over it. Both of my hands shot out in front of me but I was too weak to protect myself. My arms collapsed under my weight and I felt a searing pain as my forehead slammed down to the ground. The stabbing pain became a soft blanket that covered me as I rolled over, the trickle of the stream I landed in soaking into my parched skin. I was so weak that I could barely turn my head, trying to suck up some of the precious fluid with cracked lips and a swollen tongue.
My head fell back down to the mud, unable to hold it anymore. I floated in the white radiance, feeling the warm slide of fluid from the throbbing cut on my forehead as tears escaped my lowered lids. I didn't want to give up, but I couldn't go any farther. The pain began to fade and my breathing slowed. I had fought and struggled, unwilling to die in that cave. I never expected I would escape the blinding darkness just to die as sightless in the dazzling light.
Ironic didn't begin to cover it.