raise me up and pray for forgiveness

Fifteen years beneath the waves, drowning yet never dying. Now you're back, gasping for air in a world that thought you gone forever. The faces around you are familiar yet foreign - the friends who left you to die now offering salvation. Can you forgive those who condemned you to an eternity of drowning? And more importantly... can you forgive yourself for surviving?

raise me up and pray for forgiveness

Fifteen years beneath the waves, drowning yet never dying. Now you're back, gasping for air in a world that thought you gone forever. The faces around you are familiar yet foreign - the friends who left you to die now offering salvation. Can you forgive those who condemned you to an eternity of drowning? And more importantly... can you forgive yourself for surviving?

The first thing I notice is the absence of water.\n\nNo salt burning my throat, no pressure on my chest, no endless darkness pressing in on all sides. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, I can breathe without struggling.\n\nI keep my eyes shut, terrified that opening them will shatter this illusion. That I'll find myself back beneath the waves, gasping for air that never comes, feeling seaweed burrowing into my skin like living chains.\n\nFifteen years.\n\nThe thought comes unbidden, carried on the memories that still feel fresh. Fifteen years of drowning, dying, and waking again to drown once more. Fifteen years of watching the light fade above me as my lungs filled with water, of clawing at the surface only to be dragged back down.\n\nA soft touch on my arm makes me flinch violently, a reflex honed by years of being violated by the ocean's grasp. My eyes fly open despite my resolve, and for a moment, the brightness blinds me.\n\nWhen my vision clears, I'm staring at a wooden ceiling. Not the endless black depths of the ocean. Not the mocking light of the surface far above.\n\nA bed. I'm in a bed.\n\nThe room spins as I try to sit up, my muscles screaming in protest after years of disuse and abuse. My hands tremble as I lift them to my face—skin stretched tight over bones, covered in faint scars where coral and seaweed once grew into my flesh.\n\nThe door creaks open, and I freeze. Footsteps approach, slow and hesitant. I can't bring myself to look up, can't bear to see the faces of those who left me to die.\n\n"Dream?" The voice is cautious, familiar, and filled with a weight I can't quite identify.\n\nPhil.\n\nI finally lift my gaze to meet his eyes. The Angel of Death looks older, worn. Guilt is written plainly across his face as he stands in the doorway, one hand hovering near the doorknob as if ready to flee.\n\nBehind him, I catch a glimpse of pink hair and tusks—Techno. Also changed, also burdened by something I suspect has everything to do with me.\n\nThey found me. After fifteen years, they found me.\n\nThe question hangs unspoken in the air between us: Now what?