Drowning in a Sea Storm (FHF #2)

Happy Five-hundred Friday everyone! I hope you enjoyed the last Five-hundred Friday journey through my adolescent memories, if not, maybe I can redeem myself this week with a little fiction. My goal for this week is for you to be an empathic, yet helpless observer in the story. I know it doesn't make sense without reading it, but once you reach the end, I hope you felt that way. I haven't written a piece of fiction since The Last Male Northern White Rhino, so I may be a bit rusty. I hope you enjoy!

She pulls her knees to her chest and allows her head to slump forward. The darkness swallows her peripheral vision, and to compensate for her loss of awareness, her other senses magnify. She feels the water on her body; first as heated beads on her scalp and then as warm droplets sliding from the base of her neck and over the contours of her back. Joined in a symphony, the droplets arrhythmically coalesce in the bath puddle, while the shower spray hisses in its descent. Thin streams snake over the bridge of her nose and touch her lips, tasteless if not for the hint of minerality.

Feel the warmth and hear the symphony, she tries to tell herself, but the voice of her logical self is inaudible. In her head is absolute cacophony. She wouldn't describe her thoughts as racing, since they aren't all intrusive and too fast to grasp, some are harmless, and trek slow enough to ponder about. Do others think I'm happy? What's the fill rate of the bathtub? I hope my electric bill won't be too high. Why am I lonely if I know I am not alone?

The last thought zips by just long enough to deliver an impact. Her logical self screams for her to breathe, and fortunately, she hears. Four seconds in she counts; one...two—Will I feel better if I let it go? —three...four.

Now hold for seven the logical voice says, fading. One, two, three, cry, four, five—cry, cry, cry.

She lets out a choked breath and loses sensation. She no longer feels the water or hears the splashes, they disappear to her subconscious along with her logical voice. Her choked exhalation is followed immediately by a pitiful whimper and a constant stream of tears.

It's fascinating that humans are the only animals that cry. The most intelligent species: creators of language, designers of cities are defected to psychologically breakdown when exposed to emotional stress. If crying is only for humans, then why does it feel so barbaric? Crying is sore soaked eyes and incomprehensible yelps and moans. Gasping for air despite sufficient supplies and despondent hands that latch—

The whimpers devolve into wails, interspersed only by desperate gasping attempts for control. Four seconds in, she remembers. One, two, three, four.  Eight seconds out. One, two, three, four.

You didn't hold, she lashes to herself. AGAIN. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight.

In. One, two, three. Out. One, two. AGAIN.

In. One, two. Out. One, two. AGAIN.

In. One. Out. One. AGAIN.

In. One. Out. One. AGAIN.

One. One. One. One. One. One.

Like the rapid thoughts, control of her breathing is out of reach. She wishes the lights were on so she could root herself back in reality, but instead her thoughts are everywhere, and she feels like she's nowhere.

One. One. One. One. One. One. One. One. One. One.

To her, the walls aren't caving in, they're expanding. The bathtub is now an ocean, and water surges and swells amidst the sea storm. She's certain the salt she tastes means she's drowning. Humanity can be traced to wriggling sea creatures, so it's only fitting that this is how it ends for her. Leave the world just as how it all started; submerged.

In one final attempt to stay afloat, she flails her arms. Despite expecting nothing, her hands hit a cool surface. A buoy?

One. One. One. One, two.

No, I'm in the tub.

At the realization, she's thrusted back into reality, now tasting her tears rather than the ocean water. The surging waves shrink to an overfilled tub and the sea storm dissipates into a steady shower stream. She grasps the shower handle and shuts off the water. Breathe, please., a faint voice tells her.

One, two. One, two.

One, two, three. One, two, three.

One, two, three, four. Now hold for seven...

w.c.: 649

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