Doors and More Doors

You gather the strength to get up as your mind dissolves. Your body is a torturous capsule, a brazen bull. The chamber that makes up the essence of you wavers on the line between alive and dead. It teeters there for minutes, but you know your time is running out. You use the energy you have remaining to shoot up from your position. You wish you were in pain. No, this is no pain. This is agony. It's torment. You have countless injuries from your battle, especially in your head and stomach and shoulders and ankles and the palms of your hand and your neck, the front and back of it, and each of your eyes. You step out of the plane slowly to a row of police officers. They have their sights aimed at you until you fall to the ground. 'I'm victorious,' you think to yourself, before passing out.