This maelstrom is ******* me in. No chance of rescue. No second life. I am torn between wanting to fight and needing to let go. I can feel your phantom fingers hefting me upward, toward the blinding light. Then, I am yanked down to the sweet abyss of unfeeling. Both promise of everlasting silence; one that can never be broken by humans. I am cleaved in two; these forces wage war over my limp body.

     It's nice to know that something would fight for you even though humanity has given up hope. I should let go, be one with the supernatural.  But which should I choose? I really need to let - NO! I don't want to be fought over by forces I can't even begin to imagine. I still want solid hands to touch me. I want the natural warmth that a body emits. I want to feel sturdy bones beneath my fingers and physical contact with the owners of these phantom fingers.
    
     I won't let anyone decide for me. I won't die without a fight. I'll claw and scrape at everything for my survival. I'll even clip you in the head should you have ill intentions. No, I will fight till my end. And maybe, just maybe, I'll die with a smirk on my face and with fingertips hiding scraped flesh and blood beneath.