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and you settle in the sand. You fight, in vain. Your
waterlogged wings hold you fast to the bottom of the
harbor.

You can hear the boats passing overhead, pulling in or
shipping out, carrying cargo, or people, down the coast,
across the ocean, or, at the very least, to somewhere
important, somewhere they need to go. Your father is
somewhere above you now, maybe hanging in the sky
looking down, wondering how he went so wrong with you.

The sand scratching at your arms and your legs, you
let out your last breath, watch the bubbles emerging from
your parted lips and rising, flying, up toward the surface.
You close your eyes and breathe in the sea, your lungs
filling with saltwater, the taste in your mouth, burning
your windpipe. There is no going back from this.

You always thought the world would fade to black as
the life left your body, but instead, you see the golden
light of the sun.

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