Ebbing tides of crimson.

Life deluging from the wound.

Pallid, impoverished digits on the left, sopping ones on the right. The bloody side reaches out for any manner of defense, but never finds one. Eyes, their vision not quite doomed by the tidal wave of vivid white, are burned in with the image of a field of utterly senseless carnage. Death reigns over the world of gray with a baton of iron, conducting a flawlessly cruel symphony.

The tides flow, never surrendering to any will but that of chaos. A broken heart beats louder than ever before, in time with death's symphony.

Rockets. Muffled. They would be deafening only to those who had not already been deafened.

For one moment, the world itself is laden with jewels.

Then, the tidal wave of vivid white returns, bleaching all sentience and memory from us.