seventeen
I run down to the beach.
I can't see. I can feel the sand between my toes and I can smell the salt in the air. I pull off my clothes until I am only in my undergarments. I follow the slope of the beach to the water.
I wade in, knees deep. The waves crash into me. I take a deep breath and walk further. The water is at my thighs, my hips, my stomach. I am crying but I don't know when I started. All I know is that I want to remember. And I want it all to stop.
The water is over my shoulders. It is cold, a late spring day. My mind is full of colour but none of it makes sense. I scream as the water goes over my chin, into my mouth. I can't stop. My legs keep walking.
Drowning. Apparently, it is the most peaceful way to die. Once you accept the fact that your death is near, you stop fighting. And when you stop fighting, it's peaceful. It's beautiful place.
The water is over my head.
I can't breathe.
