I coughed my way onshore like an asthmatic seal, gorging up sand and gagging on sea water. The sun baked the liquid off my shoulders. I could feel it igniting each strand of my hair. I have become the roman candle I always seemed.
     But it was too late to run back into the water. Too late by far.
     Even though I believe there is no end, still I wonder as I crawl onto the sand, groaning great clumps of civilizations crushed into granules: is this the end? Is this how it ends for me? The water taunted me with its nearness. All around me I could hear it, but already it was too far, too late by far.
     What was I waiting for, I thought, as leather began to melt and match-strands of hair erupted in flame. Good god, what was it that I was expecting to see that I could not have shown myself all those years? What was not in every way evidenced by those who loved me? The universe waits for no man. What you are, you make in this world. What you have, you create... or take... for yourself.
     I stared into the flames, scrying them for the split second of the rest of my life. No eternities found therein, just the simple reflection back of earnest eyes and earnest hands. One enclosed in a metaled gauntlet. The other, a bare hand. Were they here, even now, were they here, I thought, I would not doubt but that they would have pissed on me to put it out.
     William. Edward. Forgive me.
     I think I reached out with my own hand, what was left of it in that moment. And then, for a sweet instant there was nothing. No noise in my ears, no pain, no suffering, no grief, no guilt.
     Heaven, then.