This Story is Backwards

They died, at the end. A deep embrace, two gunshots, and a stormy sea that became deceptively calm, as if sensing the departure of something important and deep, as if the waters themselves were grieving. They really did love each other, very deeply. Perhaps they would be reborn, gain another life to love each other. Their love did seem strong enough to transcend physical form. Their hands were tightly gripped together, fingers intertwined. Their hair, black and blonde, was drenched with blood, like an amateur dye job. In the distance, someone was calling their names - but it was too late. It fell on deaf ears, ears which would never hear again, but whose last functions was to pick up the quiet whispers from their lovers' dying lips. Death is final, it is eternal sleep, an embrace from which you will never escape. And yet the embrace between their bodies seemed to intertwine in a way that defied it - stronger than even death could deliver, the power of a love valued more than life.