He saw his mother come running towards the body on the ground. Others followed. Shouting. Screaming.
The body was his.
The men started pushing his chest, blowing into his mouth. They seemed to be drifting further and further away, yet neither them or him was moving. Some kind of fog was separating them. They became diffuse. Their voices sounded like something far away, deep in a dream.
He heard someone calling. He turned around. Someone was waiting for him in the shadows. There was a light. A silhouette of a figure. The scene of his death did no longer seem important.
The world was left behind. The real world, no longer real to him. He walked through a wall of shadows, a veil of mist. A hooded character took form, standing in a river boat. Dark, still water.
Come. It is time.
Hank looked back towards where he’d come from. There was nothing there. He had vague memories of laughter and sorrow, fun and fears. It was over. It didn’t matter any more. Like a dream, a insignificant chapter in an eternal book.
I guess it is. He stepped into the boat.
The hooded one pushed it out on the water, into the mist. They didn’t speak. They didn’t exchange looks. Nothing mattered any more. Nothing at all.
Soon he was gone forever.