I had never been a particularly religious person. Whenever someone asked what I identified as, I'd usually mumble something vague about being agnostic. But the situation I now find myself in has sparked an unexpected pull toward faith
I'm floating inside a large, translucent vat filled to the brim with a viscous, green fluid. Through the haze, I can barely make out shadowy figures moving occasionally outside my containment. My mind feels clouded, like trying to peer through thick fog. Despite the overwhelming lethargy, one memory stands out with unsettling clarity: the moment of my death.
It had been a cloudy day, the waves rolling in with a slow but steady rhythm. I sat perched atop my lifeguard tower, the bridge of my nose beginning to sting with that familiar sunburnt tingle. My eyes were glazed with boredom. I'd taken the lifeguard job that summer, hoping to chat with cute girls, but the beach I was assigned to rarely had visitors. Most days, it was just out-of-state families and their little kids.
I'm not trying to complain—but, truthfully, I just wanted something more interesting to happen.
"What's with that sad look on yer face? Most exciting job in the world and you're sittin' there like a sunburnt blobfish! HAHAHA!" boomed a voice from behind me.
That was Daryl, a coworker of mine at the beach. He'd been working there three years longer than I had, I think. He looked like some kind of southern hillbilly Sasquatch, with thick, dark hair and a drawl so heavy it seemed like a parody.
"Oh please. This job is as exciting as watching paint dry, Daryl. I'm only still here to pay off my tuition," I replied with a sarcastic grin. I didn't exactly hate Daryl, but that voice of his had been slowly driving me insane after three long summers. I wished the crashing waves could drown him out.
"You keep on sayin' that, but I ain't seen you lookin' for anything else. If you hate it so much, why not just quit?" he asked, tilting his head.
His quick retort caught me off guard. Had this goofball really just called my bluff?
"Pfft. Whatever."
That shut the conversation down. An awkward silence settled over the lifeguard tower. He was right, though. As much as I complained, I couldn't bring myself to quit. It felt like—somehow—this job was meant for me. Like there was a reason I was still here.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something. About 30 meters out, a young boy was struggling in the water. From the way he thrashed, it was clear he was caught in a rip current. If I didn't act fast, he'd drown.
"Daryl! Take over for me!" I shouted, breaking the silence. Daryl muttered something about death, frozen as I bolted toward the shoreline.
Even as I ran, one question nagged at me: why was a kid swimming alone on an empty beach?
"Help me! Please, help me!" the boy cried as I hit the surf.
Those idle thoughts vanished the moment I dove into the frigid ocean. Stroke by stroke, I surged forward, driven by urgency. When I reached him, I saw he couldn't have been older than seven, with dark hair and a cut beneath his right eye.
The current was brutal. Just staying afloat was a battle. I shouted to reassure him.
"Kid, you're gonna be alright. Just hold on to my hand!"
He let out a sob and nodded. But inside, I was terrified. I was barely staying above water myself—now I had to carry him, too?
As I swam, panic clawed at me. I thought about letting him go, trying to save myself. I told myself that self-preservation was natural, even morally justifiable. But every time that dark thought crept in, the feel of his trembling, freezing little hand in mine kept me anchored. I couldn't let go. Not now.
My muscles screamed. Every fiber of my being burned. I'd exhausted every ounce of strength—I was running on nothing but raw willpower. Slowly, painfully, we edged toward the shore. It was like walking a tightrope above a chasm—one misstep, and we'd fall. So far, I hadn't faltered. But how much longer could I last?
And then… it broke.
"Ack. Wait…" came a frail, breathless cry from the boy.
I turned. Behind us, a massive wave was rising—towering and inevitable.
"Damn."
It was all I could say. I'd pushed myself further than I thought humanly possible, only to watch it all unravel. Everything I'd fought for was about to be crushed in an instant.
Sniff Sniff
I turned toward the sound. The boy was crying. He'd read the defeat on my face and surrendered to it, too.
How is it fair for someone so young to die like this?
Then—an idea. Maybe it didn't have to end this way. Maybe not everything had to be in vain.
"When the wave hits—use it! Let it push you to shore!" I shouted.
I didn't wait for a reply. The wave was already upon us. As it surged forward, I grabbed the boy and hurled him with the last of my strength toward safety.
Then the wave hit.
I was pulled under instantly, too weak to resist. The current dragged me down, my limbs refusing to move. And just before I lost consciousness—before what I assumed was my end—an explosion of light burst above the surface.