When you first go under, it's calm. Peaceful. Whatever is going on above the surface is muffled. Suppressed. And to stop water from going up your nose, you met some air out of your lungs. Watch the bubbles bob their way to the top. As you start to sink, your hair floats out. Looking to the surface, you see the sun filtering through the water. Those small little pockets of air blur your vision, but you can see each of them clearly, like watching a cloud lazily move; no purpose to its path. As the air in your lungs begin to run out, your tongue cleaves to the roof of your mouth, and sticks. The pressure on the oxygen causes your throat to constrict. Your lungs are starting to get desperate, it's a warning. A warning that you are running out of time. But the colours that are reflecting on the floor are mesmerizing. Hypnotizing; they won't let you leave. There are white lines, edged with yellow and dark blue, casting spider webs everywhere. The only thing that is constant are those lines. They hit everything except your shadow. Your shadow reminds you that you are still there, the webs on your body are pulling you down, trying to reconnect with the lines on the ground. They'll trap you there if they can. And they're convincing. The only thing that repels is your heart. It's losing oxygen, it's losing hope. But there is still some there. It hasn't quite disappeared. It tries to pull you back up with the promise of something sustainable. The promise of something that could give you physical relief. But mentally nothing would change. Back on the surface everything would come rushing back, coming at you from all sides. All the noise, it's too much. It makes you want to fall right back into the depths beneath you. An endless war, one between the heart and the mind; destroys you from within until one side wins. The webs pull down from all sides. Your throat hurts. Your mouth hurts. Your lungs hurt. Your head hurts. In a last desperate attempt you open your lips and water fills the cavern you just made. Only one or two air pockets are freed, everything else has already been used. They take their time getting to the top, not a care in the world. There's nothing left to do anymore, and your body forces you to take a breath. Panic. Choking. There's too much water. Your lungs have water in them, and try to get it out, but by doing so, let's more in. It's a losing battle. And you realize that. The edges of your vision start to turn black as your sub-conscience realizes that there is no hope for the body. And as the black around you grows, and the webs claim you as you go, peace settles in.
I didn't belong anyways.
YOU ARE READING
Lost
Teen FictionEach chapter is something that I wrote based off of mood or ideas. There is no rhyme or reason to them. I'm always available if you need someone to talk to 😊