Death.

It is both the light at the end of the tunnel and darkness that surrounds it.

All shall succumb to its cold embrace. None shall escape its snatching grip.

For some, the journey towards the end is a long and peaceful one. But for many, it is not the case.

Strange that in one's final moments they sometimes may have the strangest thoughts. They get hung up on the littlest things.

Hunger. Thirst. Pain. Love. None of it matters in death, as it all disappears.

When faced with inevitable death, often two choices are presented. To run and hide in fear to prolong life, or to fight back.

Those that run are cowards or doubters. Those that fight back are delusional or heroes.

Denair was a coward.

He had never had a delusion of himself. He was hungry and weak. Fighting back was never an option.

As bombs rained down overhead and the ground shook Denair found himself running. His feet stamping on the coarse dirt as he reached the beach where a small rowboat lay hidden by the cover of a tarp and the night. Illuminated only by the moon and the red light of the fires far behind him.

The murky waves sounded against his legs as he untied the tarp. His breath ragged as he pulled the tarp, barely minding his footing as he feet dug into the wet sand.

He heard gun shots in the distance behind him. He heard few screams as they were silenced by gunshots or masked by the roar of burning buildings.

He fumbled with the last piece of rope, tearing it off in desperation as he began pushing it out into the water. Denair heard a shout behind him, but he payed it no heed as he struggled to pull himself into the boat, already being pulled in by the tide.

Something dragged against the side of the boat. As he leaned over Denair saw the vague outline of a man. Quick to act Denair grabbed one of the paddles and smacked the hand grabbing the boats edge. The fingers seemed to loosen but stayed clenched on. He smacked with the paddle again, this time there was a horrible crack with a scream followed by a splash. Denair rowed as fast as he could, a snails pace as he felt exhaustion attempting to take him.

But he kept rowing. Minutes, hours. Time passed unknowingly as Denair pushed his escape. At some point he stopped smelling the smoke from behind him as the saltwater air swept it away.

The murky waters and the night sky melded together. A strong wind began to blow dark clouds above him. The moonlight disappeared as the waves became more violent.

The sky roared its anger at the sea as the two clashed. The sky cracked it's bright whip and lit up the air revealing the dark waves high as mountains.

At some point he had lost his oars, his boat flipping upside down and upright as the waves threw him. He was no sailor but a slave to whims of the sea and sky.

Some lingering strength in Denair allowed him to tie his waist tight to the seat of the boat as he fitted himself under the seat like a piece of luggage.

Sea water splashed his face as the boat would tip and slam side-to-side. His head smacked against the boat as it fell over another wave.

It was calm for a moment as the sea and sky took a breath in their fierce battle before continuing once again, more aggressive than before.

Salt water slammed into him over and over again. He leaned himself upright so he wouldn't drown from the pouring rain and bullying waves.

Fear had permeated Denair before. Fear is what pushed him to run from his town. What pushed him to untie the tarp.

Now he still felt fear. But what crept up and snatched it and consumed it was the feeling of inching death. The feeling of total powerlessness. Before now he had had a choice. He had drive and control.

The ocean has beaten that out of him and was now dragging him along for the ride. If being a coward was a sin then this storm was his retribution.

For a moment he thought caught a glimpse of a glimmer of light. Moonlight caught on the water he assumed. He didn't have a moment to dwell on it as he was smacked with more ocean water.

Denair's nose burned as he breathed. He prayed. Prayed to whatever deity that existed to end it all. He didn't care if he died he simply wished for the storm to stop.

His prayers were ignored as the only response he received was the boat tipping before falling off another wave.

He considered he could attempt to untie the ropes and simply let nature take its course as well as his life. He tugged at the knot he had tied to no avail.

He had already used his strength to tie them earlier. With the boat moving and his hands raw from holding the boat's seat, all he could do was continue to wait for the final cold embrace. He felt the boat go weightless as it got rocked to the side.

As he fell he caught another quick glimpse of a blinding bright light. But his view was not pointed to the sky or sea but out in front of him. The light hurt his dark adjusted eyes and the burning saltwater and rain only hindered it more.

It was a bit further off but it shined brightly, and unnaturally. It was no "moon light."

But as he fell and was surrounded by tall dark waves he lost sight of it.

'Is that death?' Denair wondered as he squinted at the pouring rain above him. Perhaps his prayers were answered.

But that was just one of his many weary thoughts as he tumbled through the oceans waves.

His throat and eyes burned. He could no longer see and every breath felt like fire.

Strangely he hadn't passed out the entire time. Something was preventing him from doing so. Whether it was the chaos around him or the knowledge deep down he knew that if he closed his eyes for too long he would surely die.

The storm had been raging on, and it reached its crescendo as Denair tumbled around as the boat shook. A piece of the rowboats' head snapped off with a deafening crack and a flash of light.

Denair wanted to scream and shout. To condemn whatever god had pushed him to this fate. It wasn't fair.

But no sound came out when he opened his mouth. Only more water filled his lungs forcing him to cough.

His throat caught and his eyes burned. Not only from the sea and rain but also from his own tears. He wept for himself as the storm raged. He hadn't noticed it until then but he no longer could care. He had escaped one harsh fate and traded it for another. Rather than killed by man he'd be killed by nature.

Through his squinting eyes he made out a strange image. It was a section of light. So blinding he could only bear to look at its edges. Through the jagged sides like a broken pane of glass a white light outlined and clashed against the darkness. It stood not as moonlight reflected but rather as a small freestanding wall floating in the ocean waves.

The wall of light permeated a section of space large enough to fit a small house. Every few seconds though it would sputter in and out of existence like a light that didn't quite work right.

He was close to it, and the water seemed to pull in that direction like a strong current. Waves would push against him and throw him off course but he was inching toward it bit by bit.

The harsh ocean mist spread across his face and he sputtered against it trying to breathe. The sight of the blinding wall gave Denair a sense of fear and unfathomableness like a bottomless void that would leave no trace behind.

A strange feeling of helplessness consumed Denair once again. This wall of light... for it must surely be death. The gap between the two planes of life and the endless silence.

Denair could do nothing as he was pulled closer and closer to the wall of light. As one final wave seemed to push him into it, he realized he had never made any choice other than to switch from one fate of death to another.

A loud snap of something akin to lightning brushed over him as a light that pierced through his shut eyelids. His ears popped and he was immediately hit with a warm air.

What was it now? A tornado of fire? A whirlpool? The breath of some sea monster from a forgotten past?

Denair tried to force open his eyes. Whatever death was about to strike him down it wouldn't matter. All he wished was for the dignity to stare into the face. For if he had been a coward his whole life he would be brave in his death.

But his eyes felt glued shut. Despite whatever bravery he tried to garner amounted to nothing. Insurmountable fear of death and its accompaniments permeated his body. Having given up his body no longer felt reason to listen to whatever vain and selfish desires he had for he had forfeited the freedom of choice to his body. In the end he was a coward.

Denair's heart was beating so hard he felt it would burst out of his chest. His senses had been overloaded leaving him incoherent to whatever his surroundings were.

But it was strange. He felt dizzy as though he had been spinning around for a time and suddenly stopped. He felt heavy and no longer weightless as he had been before riding the waves currents of the sea. If the storm had been chaos' avatar then he resided in that of order.

His head pounded hard. His head had slammed hard against the boat numerous times. His throat burned and his nose stung. But strangely he felt cold.

After hours in the storm he finally had some feeling of temperature. A warm and gentle breeze brushed over him. The salty smell of the ocean was familiar, but inherently different. The air itself carried a different scent.

Denair lay in the boat, his eyes burned. A bright light was piercing through his eyelids. Hours of saltwater and darkness had conditioned them to be sensitive to the light he now faced.

His eyelashes fluttered as he attempted to open his eyes. He felt the salt encrusted along his face, pasted like dry mud.

Blue. With thin white clouds.

A near clear sky.

Tears formed in Denair's burning eyes.

It was beautiful. Simply beautiful.