The Elementals of Edgewood

Chapter Two

By the time his after school swim practice had swung around, George's day had managed to turn from bad to worse.

He'd been out of it all day, resulting in a failed algebra test, and a scolding  from three of his teachers for dozing off during their lessons.

If only they knew how hard it was to handle Year 12 high school on just 5 hours of sleep.

Now, he was in the locker room, getting ready to face swim training. If his body could function properly enough for him to get changed and endure an hour of swimming.

"Dude, are you okay? You look like you've been hit by a truck." George's best friend, Nate looked at him with concern.

George had known Nate since joining swim team in his first year at Edgewood High, and the two of them, had been friends ever since.

George didn't really consider himself popular, but he got along well enough with most of the people in his year. Nate was the only person he really was close to though.

"Yeah I'm fine, just haven't been sleeping all that well." George replied, slamming his locker door.

Nate nodded as they walked out of the locker room and down the corridor to the pools. The familiar wave of chlorine, piss and sweat grew stronger and stronger the closer they got to the entry.

"Well don't let Coach see, you know how he's been all pro-healthcare lately. Oh, and we've apparently got a speed test coming up."

Coach Walden, the coach of the boy's swim team, was an intimidating guy. He was huge, in his early thirties, and had a permanent frown which meant you could barely see his eyes from underneath his bushy brows. He'd almost made it to the Olympics, but had injured his shoulder in a car accident, preventing him from every swimming competitively ever again. George and Nate believed that the pain he inflicted on them in trainings was his way of venting.

"Great. I love speed tests." George groaned, peeling his swim cap onto his head and undergoing the usual struggle of getting each of his escaping blonde curls under the rubber. 

Nate scoffed. "Yeah, well, you should love them, seeing as you bloody win every time." George was one of the top swimmers in the team, despite being a Year 12, but he still hated speed tests.

"Yeah, and they're bloody painful every time!" He retorted. Their conversation was interrupted by a piercing whistle.

Coach Walden pointed to a whiteboard with their training programme on it, which was propped up on a chair next to the pool. Nate and George joined the other members of the team who had crowded in a circle around it.

"Warm up;" their coach barked, "twelve lengths freestyle, ten lengths no legs and ten lengths no arms, alternating. All done at 80%. Start with that and then we'll go over some technique."

George felt relief wash over him- he knew his body wouldn't be able to cope with anything more intense than a technique session.

The circle dispersed; the boys gathering by their two lanes.  After school, the pool was shared by the swim teams (male and female) and the water polo team, so the boys only had two lanes.

George curled his toes over the edge of the pool, fastening his goggles to his head. He swung his arms, shaking his shoulders to loosen his muscles. He could feel his body beginning to protest the idea of exercise.

Forcing determination into his mind, he shook off it's complaints, and dived into the unbroken water. 

The second his hands made contact with it, he felt different.

Alert. Awake- and as he pulled his body through the water with each rhythmic stroke, a tingling feeling, like pins in needles, erupted through his body, reaching to his fingertips. It felt like a rush of electric strength, power almost. 

George assumed that it was the cold of the water, that it must've woken him up. But the tingling didn't stop. It had lessened somewhat by the time he finished his first length, but the strength was still there, the electric adrenaline. He tumbled under the water, pushing off the wall towards the surface. 

George suddenly noticed that the image of the tiles on the pool floor had strengthened, the detailing on each one perfectly clear through the chlorinated mist. He blinked, trying to refocus his sight, but the sharpness in his vision was still there.

 An enormous crash to his left jolted him out of his thoughts. He turned his head in the midst of a stroke to see a fizz of water in the waterpolo area. One of them had jumped into the pool.

George was puzzled as to why he the crash had seemed so loud, when he realised everything was. The heavy breathing of his teammates, their ferocious kicking thundering through the water; he could even hear the chatter of the girl's swim team outside the pool.

The surge of sound to his eardrums and to his brain was so overpowering, he could barely hear his own thoughts. The usual muted silence of being underwater was gone. 

George screwed up his eyes, shaking his head in an attempt to rid the sounds from his head. Confusion was building inside of him. He didn't know what was happening to him.

George tumble-turned again, and started on his third length. He tried taking longer breaths, breathing the oxygen in gulps and exhaling deeply. The sounds still raged around him, his vision perfectly clear. In his distraction, he inhaled a gulp of water.

Coughing and spluttering, a sudden array of tastes filled his mouth. His mind blared with confusion. How could he taste the water?

Chlorine overwhelmed his senses, taste buds stinging, a hint of stale sweat lingering in his nasal. It was overpowering. Disgust travelled up from his stomach with such power that George gagged, his body shuddering.

There was something else, something disgustingly familiar, like a kind of rotten acid. Realisation followed by revolt washed over him, his mind weakening as he identified the taste.

He had to get out- out of the water.

 Nearing the side of the pool, George urged his muscles to move faster. He could feel bile at the back of his throat, the taste lingering in the back of his throat.

Pushing himself out onto the edge, George collapsed onto the poolside, panting heavily. But all it took was a reminder of the foul taste for his stomach to shudder, and for his lunch to explode out of him onto the poolside.

His body fell weak, mind buzzing with questions and confusion that he didn't want to face. Exhaustion overcame him once again. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Someone stopped in front of him. Following up their legs with his eyes, George met the disgusted face of his coach.

"Geez, Davis, couldn't you have held it in?" The man turned his nose away from George's vomit.

"Dude, are you okay?" Nate asked from behind him in the pool, voice filled with alarm. George didn't meet his eyes, but nodded.

"Yeah, I guess I'm not too well." He choked weakly. Another wave of nausea hit him at a flash of memory, and he gagged. The now crowding swim team surged back from the side of the pool in alarm.

"Okay, okay, you've made your point, let's get you out of here." Coach Walden grabbed George's elbow and yanked him upwards to his feet. His legs felt a little shaky, and his head was a pounding, fuzzy mess but he insisted he could walk back to the changing rooms on his own. He really wanted to be alone.

"Fine, but go home and rest properly, or find out what's wrong with you. We need you fit."

Nodding, George turned away from his coach and the rest of his staring swim team, and began hobbling back to the changing rooms.