It was dark. So dark that he was flying blind. Casted away, bleeding into the ocean below him. He tried to fly low enough not to get zapped out of the sky, but not enough to be swallowed by the sea. It was a hard to fight battle, one he was losing as the blood poured down his paw and into the ocean. Rain pelting his tattered wings, making them heavy and soaked.

The sky roared, the world shook, and one bad turn away from the storm and into the mouth of a massive wave consumed him entirely. Underwater he gasped for air that was entirely and impossibly away from him. One last struggle, the ego in his heart trying to keep him from dying.

Not yet. This can't be how I die.

But the sea only entered his mouth and into his lungs. It felt like the freezing waters only made it even harder to move. He looks up, sees the bright white lightning light up the surface of the stormy ocean into beautiful blues and white rings. His eyes close, despite his fighting, and then there's nothing.

Nothing for a while. Nothing for God knows how long. A part of him wishes it would stay that way.

It was the sound of seagulls that finally woke him up. Squawking and pecking at his frigid body, crumpled like sandy, seaweed covered garbage on the shore. He grumbles, tries to adjust, but only the shocking pain of his body runs through him.

The mass of sea trash groans and moans, trying it's best to come alive again.