Basically BOTO

Ghosts of The Past

(TW: Drowning(very detailed))

  It was the finale all over again.

  Except, it was much colder. And the person running ahead of him wasn't Shelly. Instead of the baby blue cone-shaped shell he'd come to know, they were a cream colored stranger, with two red rings on their body and a small sphere on their head. Shieldy didn't even know what kind of object they were.

  Shieldy wasn't himself, either.

  He felt taller. And he couldn't see his face, but just from looking down he could tell he was a similar cream color as his opponent. 

  A whistle brought his attention back- his opponent jogged off the path as a horse emerged from the trees.

  "Pawn, wait!" He stretched out his hand; Pawn didn't answer. They didn't even look at him. They jumped onto their horse and with a crack of the reins, they were gone, leaving him in their dust. 

  He kept chase, but knew it was to no avail. Pawn cheated. He'd never catch up.

  He looked to the right, at the vast frozen lake. It glimmered under the winter sun, almost as if calling to him.

  Unless...

  He dashed to the shoreline and tested the ice. Frozen solid. He slid out a little further and smashed his heel into the lake and split the surface with a grinding crack. Pushing all his weight onto his foot, he drove it through the thick ice, and his shortcut was there. His heart was pounding.

  Briefly, he looked at his reflection in the wavering water. He was some kind of cylindrical object, with a crown that resembled his own points. And his eyes were hard. Determined. He fought like hell to get here.

  This was the only way he'd win. He had to win.

  He took a deep breath and dove in; the freezing water stung his skin, froze his face- yet he had to keep his eyes barely open for the other shore. The world muffled around him as the cold numbed his senses, almost as if he were in a dream. He pushed onward under the ice as the water got darker and darker.

  But surely this would be much faster than Pawn. He'd been dreaming of this day for ages, and after all his hard work, surely he deserved to win. His shortcut was better. A near tingling sensation came over him. The icy ceiling stretched on, but it would all be worth it once he crossed the finish line, and the stands would roar with cheers of his name.

  A blurry mix of mud and ice grew closer. He was nearly there. His hands came to rest on the ice that he could hardly feel. He curled his hand into a fist and thumped at the icy barrier.

  Nothing. 

  Not even a sound, nor a crack. Nothing happened.

  He thumped at it again, with all the force he could muster, and still nothing. Both his hands punched at the ice, the one thing between him and winning, between him and his freedom, his life. He was suddenly aware of how his lungs burned and screamed for a breath, how his stomach twisted and his own limbs grew heavier and heavier as they seemed to freeze and burn at the same time. 

  It was too late to swim back. He punched, slammed, scratched desperately at the cruel ice that sealed him in and promised to drag him to a frozen grave. Time slowed to a crawl as he poured his draining energy into fighting for his life. 

  Don't breathe, don't breathe!

  His throat strained and tightened and his legs were like lead. Water overwhelmed him and suddenly his insides felt like they were being stabbed as freezing water rushed into his nose, his mouth; he swiped at the ice only to meet more water as he fell in slow motion. His screams came out as strangled gurgles while he was being frozen from the inside out. Darkness speckled his vision while the silence grew louder and bubbles drifted up from his now still mouth. The water faded to a void- one he couldn't feel or see or hear.