Lost and alone out at sea were the stranded men in a group of three,

Who had fought their all against the rough tides of the marine as clouds erupted sending a thousand rivers of rain,

Formed army-like and with no shame whilst the wind took the small boat within the palms of its hands and shook mercilessly.

In a state of despair, the sky above continued to violently weep onto the world in a self centered way,

Failing to cease as the three men allowed quiet pleas for help to escape their mouths and spill out onto the open water,

Unheard by all but one.

A lifeguard closing in on them,

Re-lighting the burned out fire within the minds of three,

Dashing to the rescue across the harshness of the monstrous sea,

Appearing to them as something much more momentous than the likes of you and me.

From afar the men squinted through narrow eyes,

Unable to define the face of their new-found religion.

They each dwelled on questions that lurked deep inside apprehensively as the figure drew closer,

Ignoring the demands of fear that tapped them on the shoulder as they became slaves to the unforgiving air-stream.

Was this the type of hero dreamed of as a child?

Had their hero been decided before they left the shores, or had the arrival been caused by the damage of the storm?

But already the person that now stood in front of their eyes was beginning to appear as nothing but a blur of a figure,

Merging in with the surroundings of a colossal universe,

Something to hold onto as they stabilised themselves on the transfer from one boat to the other,

And expelled the weakness within,

Regained strength,

Now safe from liquid bullets and the sound of cannons,

Hurled at them from the war being fought miles overhead.

And leaning over to offer a hand was a soul cloaked in skin and bones,

Just another person caught at the tail end of all the commotion,

Who’s outside appearance didn’t affect the three men at all:

The passengers on board had found shelter from the storm.

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