Chapter Two, dying

The currents pushed and pulled and pushed again, tumbling around in the water, with no air to breathe, he couldn't see the surface. An abnormal drift, he felt the back of his head hit a jagged rock- and he stopped fighting. The man gave up. He couldn't move even if he wanted, which he didn't; the cold had left him stiff and immobile, and he was ever so slightly too far from the shore to make it back. Everything was still, the man in the water felt nothing. Nothing but numbness. Slowly losing consciousness, his limbs felt like anchors trying to take him to the seafloor, his lungs full of water, his eyelids heavy, and bullet holes through his chest. He was falling, he was sinking, he was closing his eyes for what could be the last time. His face was tranquil- as if drowning was a leisurely activity. He looked young, like years had been rewound. He hadn't seemed that old previously either, though; just tired. So, so, tired.

He was dead.

The man was peaceful in death. He did not look pained, did not look remorseful. There was no regret marring his face. His body lay on the ocean floor, blood pooling up and washing away with every drift of the water. Long light brown hair flowed in the currents and framed his face like a halo, and he looked peaceful. One could look at his face, and if not for the bullet holes riddling his heart, could say he was sleeping.