This Doesn't Have A Title

The chilly waters sucked his energy. He was sinking... he would drowned and die. The thought of the cold, heartless, and watery grave below made him fight to bring his head above water once again. A wave broke around him, blasting his ear drums with the most horrific sound. He shuddered, and slid under the water again. Death was waiting, he knew. Death would grab his ankles and drag him down, smother him until he joined Death's party. He struck out with his feet, desperate to get his head above the water once more. The water was carrying him away from the boat. There was no chance of making it back to it now. He lashed out and managed to stay afloat. Another wave broke around him, pounding his ear drums. Maybe it wasnt worth the struggle... he sank under and sputtered, kicking and fighting his way above the water once more. He looked and saw a faint glow on the horizon. The waves were less mean now. He felt something underfoot, but was too tired to care. He passed out there, where the storm had left him.

Several hours later, he woke on a white, sandy beach. The beach was a jungle from the edge of the sand in. He raised his head, sunlight warming his wet and tired body. The calm, peaceful water lapped at his feet. He got to his hands and knees and crawled towards a small, grassy hill. He sighed and laid down behind it, the sun almost like an oven. In no time at all, he was dry and warm. Sighing, he slept the rest of the day away...

So there you have it. Above is a short passage from a story in my mind. If you like it, great. If you don't, then I don't want to hear about it.