On day four I was starting to slip away. Black was creeping in on the sides of my dreams. Details were less defined, images were blurry, and everything was slower. I knew I was dying. I fought the darkness. But every time I swung at its ugly face, it would hit me back twice as hard. Nothing I did was enough. I could hear voices. A female one, young and uniform, like she had practiced what she was saying many times before. A male, deep and hard, like he was angry but trying to repress it so no one could hear his rage. And in the background, sobbing, in different tones, perhaps from more than one person. I took hold of these voices like a life raft. I pushed with every ounce of energy I had left. Faded shades of grey shone through my dreams for a moment, and then disappeared. I pushed again. The grey stayed longer this time, and then vanished like before. The voices grew louder, closer even, like the people speaking were surrounding me, cheering me on. I knew this was it. I pushed one final time, desperate to break through to the other side, and in a blinding flash of light, I opened my eyes.

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