The waves crash down over my head and I start choking. Water fills my nose and mouth, and I can’t breathe. I sink like a stone, helpless. My eyes fill with terror as my breath stops. I reach for the surface and watch the light fade into darkness.
Whump. I hit the
bottom. I can still see some light above
me. I stretch up. My lungs are burning and I realize I’ve been
holding my breath. I gave up but my body
didn’t. I move my body. I touch dirt beneath my fingers. I put my feet on the dirt and crouch. There’s still time.
I shove off from the bottom and fix my gaze on the
light above. I kick my feet fast and
hard, as if I have flippers on them. I move
my arms, pulling water away from my face as if I could move it aside and squeeze
through to the top. I stare and kick and
pull. My lungs are on fire but I deny
them their job. My legs are heavy with
exertion but I ignore their suffering. I
must keep going. I have to.
Fwoosh! I burst up
and out of the water, gasping, sputtering and smiling. I choke and splutter as I doggie paddle to
shore. I claw my way onto the beach and collapse. The water laps at my feet but I don’t
care. I have no strength to move. I just let my lungs fill and release, fill
and release, fill and release.
No comments:
Post a Comment