I know how to swim. I am good at it. This is what I have been doing all summer, but I've never been sucked this far out before when I was this tired. I feel that it is different this time, as i slip further and further away from the breakers. I feel the riptide let me go, and I continue to fight, but my movements are weak.
I stop to tread water for a second to get my bearings. The water out here is not slate gray, but blue black. It is deep, and colder than it has a right to be. If there were sharks, this is where they would be, beyond the reach of the thrashing waves. Thrashing, like what they will do when their teeth sink into me. I hope I have drowned by then. I am losing hope of reaching shore. A voice in my head tells me that this is unacceptable. I agree, but I don't know what to do about it. I start by trying to find the shore.
I see an off-white line, and swim towards it. I'm hoping that its in the right direction. It is getting closer. I can see buildings from where I am. Hope blooms within me, even as my body begins to fail. I do not want to die. There is a difference between being afraid of death and not wanting to die. One keeps you from living, while the other is a reaction to a bad situation.
I've never been afraid to die, but this is different. I am aware that I am going to. For all my struggle, for all my strength, I will not make it past the breakers again. I know this as soon as I feel the first wave swell up behind me. I am so close, only to fail. I barely manage to fight my way toward the surface, only to be greeted with another wave. It pushes me under, with a mouthful of salt water. i come to the surface gasping, and realize that I am still over my head.
When the next wave shoves me under the water, I flip over until I do not know which way is up. I begin to float towards the surface, but I cannot not help myself. I can barely move. I cannot not think, I cannot not see, and I cannot not breathe. I accept that i am going to die, even as i try to get my tired limbs to move me towards the light. Suddenly, my underwater world gets a little darker. The shadow of a shark has come between me and the sky. Of course I would have to be concious when I die.
I stop to tread water for a second to get my bearings. The water out here is not slate gray, but blue black. It is deep, and colder than it has a right to be. If there were sharks, this is where they would be, beyond the reach of the thrashing waves. Thrashing, like what they will do when their teeth sink into me. I hope I have drowned by then. I am losing hope of reaching shore. A voice in my head tells me that this is unacceptable. I agree, but I don't know what to do about it. I start by trying to find the shore.
I see an off-white line, and swim towards it. I'm hoping that its in the right direction. It is getting closer. I can see buildings from where I am. Hope blooms within me, even as my body begins to fail. I do not want to die. There is a difference between being afraid of death and not wanting to die. One keeps you from living, while the other is a reaction to a bad situation.
I've never been afraid to die, but this is different. I am aware that I am going to. For all my struggle, for all my strength, I will not make it past the breakers again. I know this as soon as I feel the first wave swell up behind me. I am so close, only to fail. I barely manage to fight my way toward the surface, only to be greeted with another wave. It pushes me under, with a mouthful of salt water. i come to the surface gasping, and realize that I am still over my head.
When the next wave shoves me under the water, I flip over until I do not know which way is up. I begin to float towards the surface, but I cannot not help myself. I can barely move. I cannot not think, I cannot not see, and I cannot not breathe. I accept that i am going to die, even as i try to get my tired limbs to move me towards the light. Suddenly, my underwater world gets a little darker. The shadow of a shark has come between me and the sky. Of course I would have to be concious when I die.
