I parasail above the waves, hanging from a parachute. It will be a grand, instant death just before the sun sinks into the sea. The sky is bright with multiple colours.
I see my dead parents telling a young me struggling against waves, "You can do it".
People on the beach and in the waters wave at me. They appear to shout, "Don't give up! God'll help you".
My hand stops moving towards the bottle of poison.
When the bottle hits the waves, it sounds like a distant whistle for a new beginning.