I am playing in the ocean, feeling the water run over my feet. The sun is gone but it is not dark; the sky is a nostalgic Polaroid of blue and gray. I am running back towards the shore when suddenly I slip and fall into the foam of shattered waves. I am face down and an onlooker fears I am drowning so he calls the police. I am not drowning, however. I quickly get back up and see a fireman running towards me. He picks me up and then something happens--I don't know what--and suddenly the fireman is dead. He lies still in the water and I watch him for a minute.

Then I am back in my house. There are people mourning the loss of the firefighter, blaming me for his death. If I hadn't been playing in the ocean he would still be alive. The people lay his corpse on the stairs and every time I go to my room I must carefully maneuver myself around him. His eyes are still open and I plead with the people to give him a proper burial but they refuse. For some reason they want to remind me of what I did and plan to leave him there for quite some time. Apparently no one else is bothered by a man's corpse on the stairs.

Any interpretations?