Time… this is all he has left. The poudning of his footsteps agains the wood the only sound, the blood on his lips the only smell, fear the only sensation. He is running to the end of this dock, to the ocean, were he will find peace. There are footsteps behind them, but they end with the splash. Everything is now black and the water he is breathing becomes him. It is slow, it is clear, it is a transformation. The water cleanses him, and the bullets allow it to understand; he is one.

((now someone else post a short flash fiction story and comment on mine if ya like ;D))