Dive

Prologue

There's this moment when your head breaches the surface, and you're submerged by the water.

One second you're suspended in mid-air. Heart thumping to the beat of the crowd chanting your name. Cheering, screaming, clapping.

And the next; silence.

Calm.

It's addictive, really.

But this time, something doesn't feel right. My heartbeat is still in overdrive, causing my brain to be heading down the path of disaster preparations. The usual calmness is nowhere to be found.

As soon as my head dips to the side for my first breath, I know I'm screwed. It's like I'm out of sync with the rest of my body. I have yet to release the last bit of air before my mouth is clear of the water, but there's no time to prolong the movement and get a good breath in.

Shit.

My chest is burning from the lack of oxygen. Breathing technique has been second nature for years now. This is such a rookie mistake.

Normally, if this had happened at practice, I would finish the lap, apologize to my coach and try again. Sure, I would feel like a noob, but then again, we all have off days. However, there are no second chances at the Olympic Games final. No do-overs. No time. I have to push through.

My next couple of breaths go better, but it's way too strained this early in the race. It's like someone is squeezing my lungs.

I flip for the turn and push off from the edge, shooting through the water like an arrow. But the question is, am I fast enough?

Next breath, I try getting an overview of where the other swimmers are positioned. It's an idiot move. My head stays up for too long, and my next stroke hits the water at an awkward angle.

I can practically hear Coach growling in my head; stay in your lane, Sennels.

I must look like a freaking rookie who just got his hair wet for the first time yesterday. It doesn't exactly help to remember that this particular race is being broadcast to millions of people.

I'm going to be sick.

Two strokes, a breath. Two strokes, a breath. I just have to keep going like this.

Get'cha head in the game isn't just a horribly catchy song lip-synced by a young Zac Efron in an equally horribly addictive Disney movie; it's also a vital necessity in any sport - including swimming.

However, unlike all those people running around on fields throwing, bouncing, or kicking a ball, I don't have an hour or so to show my worth. I have approximately 104.22 seconds, and I can't afford to lose my concentration for even one of them.

The second turn is coming up, and I'm already halfway through the race, only 100 meters left. I have no idea how well I'm doing compared to the others, but it would require some form of a miracle for me to be in the front.

We're eight swimmers in the water, and I just have to be faster than five of them. I'd been favorite for the gold, but at this point, I would take any place on the podium I could get.

I need to leave this place with a medal.

Everything is riding on this. I don't have another option.

My legs are kicking with all their might, and I pull my arms through the water with expert precision, but I'm way too fatigued. The last 50 meters are approaching, and that's when I really have to drive it home.

Never before has so much depended on my performance for the next twenty-five-ish seconds.

I put all my strength into the kick at the last turn, gliding through the water, reaching my arms so far ahead of me you should think I was trying to gain an extra inch in height.

I'm pushing my body further than it has ever gone.

I glimpse the end of the black line on the bottom of the pool, letting me know that it's almost over. With one last effort, I take two more strokes and then throw both of my hands against the edge of the pool, stopping my time.

Heaving for air, I look around. There are five other swimmers in, with the rest coming in hot pursuit, but I have no way of knowing which of the five of us came in first. I take off my goggles, glancing around for the screen that will cement my fate.

And there it is. I scan the list, my eyes landing on my name, fourth from the top. Five hundreds of a second behind the bronze medalist, but it might as well have been a million.

Not fast enough.

It's no longer the physical exertion from the race that has me breathless.

I didn't do it.

As I throw my head back, a cuss slipping from my lips, I realize what this means.

I failed.

Every plan I had for my life after the games is ruined.

What the hell am I going to do now?

A/N:
And on that uplifting note...
What did you guys think about the prologue?
At this time, I won't be doing an uploading schedule, but chapter one will be coming soon.
- Hanna 💙