I must swim, for the ship has sunk; I must swim for this empty husk wishes for air. The surface seems so far, the ocean all around, and it is ultimately pointless, for with every inch I swim I am pulled toward the deep another foot, with every foot I swim, another mile. I reach and I grasp, claiming nothing. I flail and I kick, hitting nothing. Will someone not reach this distance?

The darkness closes in now, sweeping fast across my sight in spots, lines, patches, slowly diminishing my view of my fate. The blue around me becomes black, the black becomes red, for my eyes have burst, exploding into a plethora of demise, my final sight.

To finally be able to give up control, I am “perfectly” relaxed. Zen, yet helpless. Calm, yet restless. I am one of dualities, for although this force relaxes me, it completely terrifies me; I am engulfed in my own demise, floating helpless, two hundred leagues below.