Swirling black chaos roared around the hole.

Darkness lit by the glow of its emptiness filled the space with bursting anger.

Within this emptiness, rushing space found gaps and poured in. As if there was wind in a tunnel, the angry rushing sound screamed like wailing sirens. Throbbing howling chaos wheeled around and around - an endless cycle of despair and emptiness.

Suddenly, as if another hole let the pressure escape, it burst to a stop.

He felt the darkness stuffing into his mouth and sticking like grit between his tongue and teeth. Too dead to move, but too alive to choke with this dark. He could feel light swirling beyond the dark. Vaguely, it lit his awareness. Soft shapes could be seen revolving around him, pulling and tearing at him - yelling and breathing at his shame.

He pushed at the dark grit with his tongue, blew the sandy stuff out of his nostrils. He could feel his eyes behind his closed eyelids, his mind within his skull stumbling through his brain, pounding against his head. He was breathing deeply, slowly finding his life. He could feel his shoulder jammed up beneath his neck and his chest pushing against the ground as he breathed. Far behind were his arms pinched between his body and the dark hardness beneath him.

His breathing became more regular. Everything hurt and nausea was accompanied by a pounding headache. He swallowed and opened his eyes. Below him he could feel his legs limply laying against the brown sand that he blinked from his eyes.

The headache defined where his forehead held his brain. His muscles felt like leaden balloons pulling his arms down into the sand. He rolled his head back and tried to see. the sand and sky blended together into a cacophony of light and color. Somewhere that rushing sound was leaving his head and pulling away. He rolled over on his shoulder and felt his cracked lips drain the fluid from his soul.

He felt sick enough to die, but thinking hadn't come yet.

He lay on the sand half turned over, his legs twisted beneath him. He was breathing well, but couldn't get the rest of him working properly. He couldn't see well and his mouth was full of dirt. He could feel his body bruised and scarred. He needed to drink.

"....where is some water?", he thought.

He dragged his arms up and pushed the ground away. Sitting up, he could begin to make out shapes beyond the color and light. Here was a beach, the sand dark brown and wet. Above him the sky shone a light blue - the haze of early morning tempering the heat of the sun.

Far below, at its low tide, the surf gently washed across the muddy flats. The sea stretched to the horizon, unobstructed by haze. Beyond the beach beckoned a cool forest. Around him was the char of the last tide. Bits of seaweed, shells of he dead crustaceans, carrion of the deep fed their spirit to the briny breeze. It was all too familiar, and never seen before. He had to find some water. The salty sound and briny sea would suck his life away - he had to get up!