Slashing rain pounded at the craggy grey cliffs, beating a thunderous tattoo into the rocky landscape. The sky was dissolved in a massive realm of chaos as the very air itself was relentlessly torn apart by an enormous electric tempest. Momentary flashes of brilliant yellow radiance forced the landscape into stark relief, but these flashes were soon replaced by the nightmarish void. Walls of waves rushed to the shoreline, battering the rocky coast as they sought to breach the continental stronghold. Wind swept across the madness, laughing in sick glee as it flattened everything in its warpath.
In the distance, a lone figure shambled along the breaking cliff, weariness etched on his very being. A long coat, seemingly blacker than the night around him flapped madly in a desperate attempt to get off of this man. His hallowed figure used every ounce of force it possessed to keep him moving towards his destination. He continued on, slowly shuffling with his last breaths.
In the distance, the howl of hunting dogs sounded and the evil men started shouting, closing in on his location. The man slipped and fell towards the cliff’s sharp edge as the wicked wind pushed him closer and closer to the precipice. Desperately grasping, the man could find no scrap of handhold, no survival as he inched closer and closer to the frothing sea seemingly miles below. With one last grasp, the man stopped moving, acceptance of his fate displayed in his position. The endless chase had taken his whole being, every scrap of physical and mental strength he possessed to keep him going, and now so close to his destination, so close to the border and freedom, it was all still so far away. The feral canines closed in, their vicious handlers on the dogs’ heels. As they came close, everything went silent as the chase turned to stealth. He knew they would not go past the close, wondrous border, but right now the innocent man did not care. He wanted to slumber, to let the sea take his body and give up his flight from the people who would kill him, just for his version of truth. With exhaustion closing his coffin’s lid, the prone figure began a slow roll towards his watery tomb.
Suddenly, in the distance, a woman yelled and he remembered who he had left in his 203 border house, who he had given his chances to save. He remembered his times with her, the long hours spent hiding with her, everything from his old place. His brain cried out in shock as his heart started pumping again, spreading blessed warmth into his corpse. His hands continued their frantic search, and this time they found found a withered root, his savior. His muscles contracted and strained against the storm, pulling him up as the men down below began their sprinting pursuit after their dogs who had found his scent. Working madly, he tore off his coat and lightning flashed, revealing a tumbling figure falling off of the cliff.

“Was that him?” the Nazi asked in clipped German.

“Yessir,” said the other, his black uniform in stark contrast with his red tie. A pleased look spread across his youthful face and he said “That was him, Sir. We may report success to our Sturmbannführer.” The two walked back down, telling the rest of their success.

Far in the distance, a light came on in 203.