Decent | Teen Ink

Decent

December 8, 2009
By KeiraWesley SILVER, Tucson, Arizona
KeiraWesley SILVER, Tucson, Arizona
5 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Your arm reaching upward, fingers grasping at nothing. Looking up, eyes burning, you see the world so peaceful and at ease through the wavy distortion of water. Everything can seem so normal when looking only at these pieces, but under the surface lays another reality; sputtering and suffocating. Stoking feebly at the water around you, trying to propel yourself upwards, feeling the water slide so easily through your fingers and your stuck there. You know if you could just get to the bottom you could push yourself up to the air, but you can't relinquish being up in that easy looking surface, don't want to, and so you keep swimming and grasping at it; neither reaching it or touching the bottom. Your breath is running out- you know you're starting to lose this struggle. Panic overtakes you before the lack of oxygen does. You can feel your consciousness is starting to slip. Slowly and steadily your life is draining into the pool drain. Your arms stop reaching and grasping; your feeling an easy sleepiness tugging at you like your body telling you it wants to slide into an afternoon nap. All the while you never stop looking up, thinking it is so close, it could be so easy, why can't I do this? Then, as if an angels breath from heaven, you drift languidly, lazily, down and touch the smooth concrete bottom. You finally made it there, to the place where you can push yourself up, but you don't have any energy left to save yourself. Fate is having a laugh at your luck. As you touch down your body curls into it, it is solid and sure. A child curling into it's mothers breast. You take one gasping, gurgling breath of chemical water and feel yourself becoming the same as your surrounding- a part of that pool bottom. An exhale- your parting sound, muffled under the water- and your vision fades to black.


The author's comments:
This happened when I was really little, I'm not totally sure why I remember it so vividly.

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