A Swim

The day destiny had set aside for my death was a beautiful summer’s day. I think that was where destiny went wrong; with the sun set so high in a cloudless sky beaming effortlessly down on the golden sands so even the black rocks of Monk’s Bay shimmered with life. Three pre-pubescent girls, Elaine, Angela and me were caught in a riptide. Elaine couldn’t swim, I was a strong swimmer, Angela was somewhere in between and a survivor. The North Sea didn’t care about abilities except it’s own, thrashing wave upon wave down on top of us. We hauled Elaine’s frantic body up onto some rocks, our own bodies were smashed unsparingly against the black jagged shelf. Pushing ourselves out, away from the dangerous rocks we could hear Elaine’s screams above the noise of the surf. She was in an hysterical panic attack, crouching down then bobbing up in a frenzied manner. It struck me that it looked from the beach that she was thinking about diving in. Angela and I were being tossed about, our young limbs pushed into angles impossible now to recreate. I noticed a change in Angela, she suddenly had become quiet and wasn’t responding as usual, with all the strength I could muster and in time with the battling ocean I thrust her forward past the rip and she landed in an ungainly mass on the beach. She looked exhausted, weak-kneed, as she struggled to her feet stumbling to get help. In any other account this is where the strong swimmer, the saviour to the other then sweeps in and stands aghast at the concern of onlookers.
Tiredness was overwhelming me, the roar of the waves crashing down, being above water was too hard. I surrendered to the water, to my friend the ocean, if I drowned all the bad things I had to deal with would be wiped clear. I wouldn’t have to be the secret keeper for all the family including myself, I could just let it go. Destiny had the right idea, take out one pawn and the whole chess game that was my family would be over, all the king’s men would fall down. Under the water was the most perfect peace, a quiet unlike any other, the silence beckoned me down, further and further I tumbled. The feeling of a comfort, being cocooned like in a mother’s womb. I rolled in this contentment, remembering Tom from the Water Babies and just as I had moved onto my heroine Grace Darling huge hairy hands ripped me from this warm womb and brought me back into the loud reality of life. To the people gripping me, tending to the cuts and bruises, hugging life back into me, it was a triumph. I did not agree and spent numerous days at numerous beaches trying to recreate the conditions but destiny never came to my aid and I have lived to tell this tale.