A single, fleeting memory.  A last passing thought. A brief sense of all time leaving.  That strange feeling of death.  Relived over and over.  That moment is forever cherished.  It is strived upon.  The light fades from their gazing eyes and they feel their grip on this world slipping.  They wait for the loving, welcoming light at the end of the tunnel, the light of heaven, the familiar light of existence.  They wait and wait but it never appears.  No sunlight nor artificial is seen creeping across the floor, traveling to and past their feet, waiting for them to welcome the warmth.  It never comes.  There is only darkness.  The dark awaits them with open arms but they refuse that dreadful sight.  They waver between the brink of death and the breath of life.  Approaching between realities, a tall figure of a shadow, barely distinguishable from the dark surroundings. Slowly, the shadow leans toward them.  I am that shadow they fear.  I am that feeling, that endless pain, and that last shuttering breath.  My hand reaches out toward them and they recoil from the feeling of my fingers grazing upon their warm flesh.  The feeling seizes upon them of life leaving them, a sudden hopelessness, and a longing to be once more.  Their final moment of life. A last touch of fear.