Dead But Alive

chapter twenty: life inside the drawer

This time around of being frozen is a lot different. Before, I was still so alive. So aware, and able to move if I wanted to. Now I am so weak that I can't move at all, not even blink. My eyes stay closed, and I stay hidden behind them. 

And I sleep.

It's similar to being in a coma. I wake rarely, what I would think of as once a month. But I dream. I hallucinate. 

Those brief moments where I am awake, I write lists in my head. 

I wish I hadn't quit swimming. 

I wish I had my iPod.

I wish I hadn't pushed Shadow away. He hasn't come back. 

I wish I was home.

I need help.

The thought comes clearly into my brain, overwhelming all of my other wishes.

I need help. 

It stands bolder and stronger than anything else. I can't do this by myself. I need help.

But there is no help.

I stare at the lid of the drawer I was transported to, and my mind sorts through any possibilities.

Rich is gone. Shadow is gone.

There is no one left. 

---

"It's a beautiful drawing!" my mom says, holding up a framed watercolor painting. "Look at how realistic it is! The water is a gorgeous green-blue, and it looks so alive. Almost like you could jump into it."

The assignment was to draw your favorite place twisted into an evil one. I sketched the swimming pool I practice at, but I put an awful spin on it. The water looks endlessly deep, and it is a murky green and blue, old with green moss growing from the walls. It's more mysterious than creepy. The whole pool is set in a giant dimly lit building, with greenish glows emitted from small lanterns, and broken pipes dripping unknown liquid. The sharks I drew in the pool look almost ethereal, glowing hazily like ghost sharks, all of them with dark empty eyes, wandering aimlessly. On one side of the pool several terrified, skinny children are stretching out their quads and hamstrings, as a haunted-looking coach watches them almost hungrily. It's dryland turned upside down. 

My best work yet. I think it's powerful, showcasing utter evil. The whole mood is just off, something not-quite-right. 

"Isn't it amazing?" my mom says to her friend. "Reid is an amazing artist." 

I look at her nodding friend, to her, and back to the painting. It pulls me in, so realistic. I can almost feel the water lapping around my ankles, cold and slimy. I can almost see the sharks gliding silently through the water, focused on their next kill. 

I take a step back, and the water seems to slosh around my knees, higher now. Funny how a simple drawing can really take over your mind.

"Reid, are you okay?" my mom asks, and her voice seems far away. "You look dazed." 

I look up at her, and her face is blurred, wavering like a reflection in a pond. "Yes," I say, and then I trip. 

Cold, dark water closes over my head. 

I open my mouth to scream, scramble to find which way is up.

Something brushes against my leg, rough and cold.

Shark.