Tides of Redemption

“He understood that the true measure of one’s life is not in the depth of one’s despair, but in the resilience to rise above it.”

Sarah Ascends; photo by Bing Image Creator

Trigger Warning: Depiction of attempted suicide.

The beach stretched out around Michael. A vast expanse of charcoal-hued sand that extended as far as he could see. Gone were the vibrancies of nature: no lush green; no bluebonnet sky; no kaleidoscope of life that would normally dot the landscape. In their stead, a world of monochrome, not unlike a wasteland abandoned by all but the most desperate of souls.

The waves crashing at Michael’s feet did not have the sparkling whitecaps that would normally dance across their surfaces that he remembered. Instead, they leered at him with their inky black forms cresting and falling with primal roars.

Driftwood lay scattered about like the skeletal remains of some ancient creatures, so old that their names became lost to time. No birds soared overhead; no insects buzzed. Only silence, save for the unending drone of the waves.

Amidst this desolation, Michael stood. He stood with the stance of a man without an ounce of fight left in him. As the wind whipped his hair across his hollow face, his eyes remained fixed on the churning sea before him as if he alone bore silent witness as a specter adrift in a sea of his own misery.

The waves, sensing his vulnerability, lifted their icy tendrils up to him. He could almost feel their icy embrace, like a siren’s song beckoning him into their depths.

He shuddered. His thin jacket offered little protection against the biting chill. Yet he remained steadfast; his gaze unwavering on the dance between destruction and despair in the water.

In his hand, he clutched a slip of bright pink paper. Its edges were worn, as if he had gripped and re-gripped it—his talisman of despair.

He refused to look at it. Its words had already crushed his spirit and rendered his life’s work worthless. To look at it again would only shatter what little remained of his resolve.

Even the voice of the faceless bureaucrat still rung in his ears. He was only a number — disposable and replaceable. All those years of dedication. All those sacrifices, amounting to nothing. Just another casualty of the Machine to be cast aside without a backward glance.

The rage, the humiliation, the overwhelming sense of helplessness had all come crashing down in that harsh fluorescently lit room. What little remained of his purpose, his will to endure, lay in shreds. And back home, his family waited. How could he possibly provide for them now? They’d be better off without the burden of his failure.

Now, standing there at the water’s edge, the crashing beasts mocked him as they called to him.

With a sigh, he released his grip. The wind snatched the slip of paper from his fingers. He watched as the waves swallowed up the bright splash of color, as if claiming his final judgment as an appetizer.

At that moment, a strange clarity washed over him. No more fighting. No more clinging to the shreds of a life that was taken from him. The sea would claim his body, too, just as the Machine had claimed his soul.

With his mind on autopilot, he methodically removed his clothes. First his jacket, then his shirt, shoes, and pants. He folded each neatly and placed them in a pile on the sand with his watch and wallet.

Reaching into the pocket of his discarded pants, his fingers found the envelope. He pulled it out and eyed the crisp paper.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I love you,” and placed the envelope securely in the pile.

Straightening up, he strode toward the water.

The surf surged. Claws grasped at his ankles, then his calves, swallowing him inch by inch. He pressed forward with unwavering steps, despite the numbing cold already seeping into his bones.

The beasts, unsatisfied with their initial advance, surged forward with renewed ferocity, with hungry jaws opening wide to swallow him whole. They engulfed his hips and then his torso. They reached up with hungry arms for the rest of him, stinging his skin as they grasped at him and dragged him deeper.

The last glimpse of the colorless world vanished as the waves consumed him.

And the sea claimed its prize.

Michael descends; photo by Bing Image Creator

Michael sunk faster than he expected. Each wave became a silent swallow that plunged him deeper. The surrounding pressure grew and worked to force out the last bit of breath that kept him anchored to this life.

The light above faded like a distant dream. The ache to breathe became a desperate pressure in his chest, a plea drowned by the grim reality of his predicament. To give in to it would be to invite death—all he had to do was let go.

Shadows danced at the edge of his vision. They formed shapeless things that coiled around him. He reached out, but his fingers met only the water’s insistent fingers as they dragged him down.

The water spoke of ancient things; of the endless cycle of life and death. He tried to understand and find some meaning, but the words slipped through his mind like quicksilver.

The shadows danced and dipped, darting around him in a dizzying display. Were they the spirits doomed to haunt these depths? Or merely figments of his imagination, summoned forth by his mind’s desperation?

Michael no longer knew. This world shrunk to a small, dark space, which was a universe unto itself, where the laws of the surface no longer applied.

In that moment, Michael felt at peace and was no longer alone. The ocean had claimed him for its own, and in its embrace, he would find absolution.

Like a curtain drawn back by the Wizard, the water parted. There hung suspended the ghostly form of his wife, Sarah, in her wedding gown, which flowed around her like the wings of an angel.

He stared. She drifted closer with an expression of serene grace. Her features held a quality as some force beyond mortal understanding touched her.

He reached out, but as his hand passed through her like mist.

Sarah…

He said her name like a plea to make this vision real.

She only smiled. Her eyes reflected a wisdom that came from beyond the boundaries of life and death. She held the secrets of the universe in her smile, and Michael felt humbled by her presence.

The currents swirled and tugged with renewed vigor as if threatened by this angel who came to take its prize. He could not tear his eyes from her face. In that moment, the world faded, and all that mattered was this woman, floating there like a beacon.

Michael heard her voice.

She’s coming, my love.

Suddenly, a new shape materialized from the gloom like a phoenix.

The figure resolved into the silhouette of his daughter, Penny, with her fiery red hair swirling around her face.

Without hesitation, she surged towards him with movements fluid and graceful. Her eyes shone with a mix of joy and desperation for her father.

And, as a father, he instinctively opened his arms towards his firstborn—his girl—but her body passed through his, as if she were no more substantial than a wisp of smoke. His heart skipped a beat; he realized that she, too, was nothing more than an echo of his real Penny.

Her expression shifted to sorrow. She reached out with pale fingers to trace the lines of his face, and Michael strained to feel her touch. There was nothing. Nothing save for the cold caress of the water.

Dad. We need you. Please, don’t leave us.

As her words faded, another figure soared up from the dark—Jonah, his young son, dressed as always in his Superman cape.

Jonah spun and looped around him. His laughter tinkled like a chime.

Daddy, you gotta come back! We have my game this weekend, remember?

Michael reached out again, but Jonah’s form slipped through his fingers as ephemeral as the bubbles that danced around him.

The burn in his lungs became an ever-present agony. His vision started blurring as he watched Jonah swoop and dance around him.

Hurry, Daddy!

Boxer appears; photo by Bing Image Creator

Suddenly, a deep shockwave cut through the silence like a clarion call. Michael’s head snapped towards the sound, and there, surging upwards, was the golden form of Boxer, their golden Labrador.

The dog’s powerful strokes and wagging tail propelled him upward to him with a dog’s single-minded determination. Michael smiled. Loyal, brave, always a good boy.

As Boxer reached him, the four apparitions — Sarah, Penny, Jonah, and Boxer himself — swirled around him, forming a spinning wall of light. Michael felt a surge of electricity.

In the light's blur, he saw Penny, now a beautiful young woman, dressed in a flowing white wedding gown as she walked down the aisle on the arm of a stranger, sorrow etching her features. Then the scene shifted, and there was Jonah, a handsome man cradling a newborn baby in his arms at a hospital, a moment of joy tinged with melancholy. Michael would never witness the birth of his grandchild.

The visions continued, each one more gut-wrenching than the last. Sarah, frail and alone, dying in the hallway of a dark nursing home, her eyes filled with a quiet acceptance and an unspoken longing for her late husband. And Boxer, waiting on the beach. His graying muzzle holding his favorite tennis ball and his tail no longer wagging as he waited for his master to return.

The weight of these visions threatened to drown him as surely as the water that surrounded him. He will miss so much. Milestones and moments that defined his family’s lives and identity. No longer his to be a part of.

A slit of light caught his eye. High above. The surface.

He reached for it.

With a primal scream that was stolen by the churning water, Michael began to thrash and flail, his limbs pumping furiously as he fought against the unyielding pull downwards. The currents tugged and ripped at him.

Clawing and kicking, he surged upwards — not enough. A desperation drove him hard, so hard that it went beyond the physical limitations of his body. But the water clung to him; the depths refusing to relinquish its fairly won prize.

I can’t leave them. They need me. I have to go back! I want to live!

The thought burned in his mind like a flame that defied the wind. He raged against the sea. He raged against his foolish decision. He raged against his weak body.

With another surge of energy, Michael kicked, but his movements became more erratic, ineffective, and frenzied as the need for air became almost unbearable.

His body convulsed.

Then, the spectral forms of his family surrounded him in a cocoon of warm light.

Boxer’s jaws clamped down on his leg, while Penny and Jonah each grasped his hands. And there, at the center, Sarah, her delicate but powerful arms enveloping him in an embrace.

Hold on, my love. We are here.

Together, their forms, human and ghosts, rose with a grace that defied the hungry pull of the sea. Michael felt the ties that bound him to his family; ties forged in a love that transcended the boundaries of death, growing taut against the unceasing currents that sought to keep him in its grasp forever.

The light above grew brighter with each second. The heavens were calling him home. Michael’s lungs refused to give in, not when his loved ones were fighting with such determination to save him.

The light’s brilliancy became difficult to bear, but the spectral forms buoyed him upwards.

And as the light consumed them all, Michael felt a peace finally wash away his burdens.

Sunny beach; photo by Bing Image Creator

Michael coughed up sea water. His eyes fluttered open. He felt hot sand on his back. The sun stung his eyes, and for a moment, he felt unsure of how he had ended up here.

A group of people hovered over him, including a lifeguard. Each face looked down at him with concern and a measure of open curiosity.

“Sir—are you alright?” one asked. “We saw you being pulled from the water. Lucky someone was there to get you out.”

Michael blinked. “Who? What happened?”

He struggled to process the events that had led him to this moment. His family’s apparitions, the desperate struggle against… Had it all been a dream or a cruel hallucination brought on by his own despair?

Slowly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing at the dull ache through his limbs and lungs.

“I’m… I’m fine,” he croaked. Reaching down, he felt for his shoes, his watch, and the envelope.

“Looking for this?” a woman said, holding out the letter. Her expression was sympathetic, but her eyes had a quiet understanding.

Michael stared at the paper.

With a shaking hand, he took it, turning it over in his palm as if it were the most fragile of objects.

With sudden defiance, he tore the envelope in two. He tore it again and again and let the ocean breeze carry the offending pieces away.

“It’s… nothing,” he said in a voice just above a whisper.

The others exchanged puzzled looks, but Michael paid them no mind.

He looked down at the blanket draped over him, suddenly aware of his nakedness. He flushed as he clutched the coarse fabric tighter around his body.

The kind woman who returned his envelope knelt down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Nope. Don’t get up just yet, sweetie. Take it slow. Get your bearings,” she said. “You’ve been through the ringer and back by the looks of it.”

Michael nodded, his mind still fuzzy on the details.

He closed his eyes. The phantom sensations of choking and gasping for air were still fresh in mind.

He opened his eyes and watched the pieces of paper fluttering away in the breeze like butterflies.

“I’m want to go home,” he said.

The lifeguard still hovered over Michael with a scowl etched into his brow so deep it looked tattooed.

“Sir, the EMTs really, really should take a look at you. You gave us quite a scare.” His voice held a plea for Michael to accept the help.

Michael waved him off.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I just wanna get home. My family is waiting. I’m going to be late.”

The surrounding crowd murmured, clearly reluctant to leave him alone. Ignoring them, he moved his gaze towards the landscape.

Where once the waves sought to devour him, they now danced and sparkled. Their hypnotic play became a soothing counterpoint to the joyful laughter of children. Overhead, the gulls wheeled and dipped; their graceful silhouettes etched against a brilliant bluebonnet sky. The once-dreary world now awakened from its monochromatic slumber—or was it only his?

Amid this wondrous vitality, Michael felt something in him shift like a kindling of wonder that was about to ignite with renewed purpose. The phantoms from his future had shown him the true value of the life he had been so willing to cast aside.

Michael rose to his feet, shaky, and turned to face the onlookers.

The lifeguard hesitated, then gestured towards the waiting ambulance. “Let’s get you checked out — just to be safe. I’ll feel a lot better if ya’ did.”

Michael agreed and allowed himself to be guided back up to the boardwalk.

His gaze fell one final time across the scene. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he could not wait to return to his family, to embrace their future despite what challenges it might bring.

In this moment of transfiguration, he understood that the true measure of one’s life is not in the depth of one’s despair, but in the resilience to rise above it.

As he stepped forward, the weight on his shoulders lifted. He knew that the true test lay not in the past, but in the choices he would make from here on out.

The beasts of the dark had their hunger denied, and in its place, a world of boundless possibility awaited him. This is a world that he would embrace, not with trepidation, but with a renewed sense of purpose and an unshakable determination to honor the love that had saved him from the brink of oblivion.

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For Jeremy. Your story will not be forgotten.

This post was originally posted and boosted on Medium.