[ WP ] What happens when we die ?

My shot at it - 
 
 
 The cold wind blew across the heavy ocean grass, flattening it against the earth. The dark sea swelled and crashed up across the rock cliffs, a wall of white brine raining down to the depths. The old lighthouse ’ s paint peeled from years of salty wind and spray. The white and red tower looked mournful against the dark brewing storm. The man sat on his doorstep, gazing out upon the cold autumn zyphur. His weathered face stood solid as ice, as his gaze challenged the sea with his cold stony eyes. Heavy raindrops, carved out from the heavens, poured down upon the coast as they rode a swift chariot of wind down from the clouds. The man clambered back into his home, grateful to have a solid roof over his head. 
 
 He cast his eyes over his humble kitchen. The overcast skies provided little light, and the room felt smaller than usual. Only the fireplace and sparsely lit candles cast a shining light around the room. The water is almost boiling, he thought to himself. As he walked past the mantelpiece, the single photo he owned caught his eye. Covered in layers of thick dust, the cracked glass showed a picture of a young couple. He stood in silence, save the crackling of the fire and the howl of the wind. The couple were beaming, standing outside a small seaside cottage, arms around each other's shoulders. He stood, his brow furrowed, as the silence consumed him. 
 
 The sharp whistle of the kettle shattered the ambiance. He started and strode over to the pot, quickly pouring the scalding water into a cup. The tea bag floated around in circles, steaming. The vapor curled upwards, weaving in and out of itself. He gazed at it for a time, letting his drink steep. He settled himself into his favorite armchair. The old thing had served him well over the years. 
 
 Sagging, it creaked as he settled himself. It may not the prettiest chair in the world, he thought, but I ’ ll be damned if it ’ s not the most comfortable. 
 The memories came back as waves do on a calm morning. Slowly at first, but then more and more swept through his mind. He was back, with her, moving in to the small cottage. He was overflowing with happiness as they unpacked their little belongings, and spread them around the kitchen. The mismatched silverware, chipped plates in the cupboard, and the armchairs by the window. 
 
 They walked on the beach, the surf babbling and washing their toes as the sun painted the sky with streaks of orange and pink. They picked up shells, and found old glass, she kept all of the baubles. He teased her and called her ‘ baby magpie. ’ As memory after memory came back to him, he drifted off to a warm sleep. The earth fell away from him, as he felt a feeling of weightlessness, and happiness. He soared through the gray, heavy stormy clouds, up into a blinding light. He did not know why, but joy and warmth seeped into him. A sudden fire ignited in his heart as he broke through the white... 
 
 He awoke to the sound of the sea. Its all too familiar babble of the surf. Then, his name, called out by a voice that he had not heard in years. He did not believe. 
 
 
 It could not be. 
 
 
 He opened his eyes and there she was, standing over him, beaming that magpie smile. He started to cry, and she laughed, 
 
 “ Why hello darling, ” 
 
 “ Where am I? ” he replied, shaking. 
 
 “ Do n't fret dear, you ’ re with me. ”
