Narrative About Swimming

“Mom, can I go for a swim,” I asked, pleading. “Sure thing! I’ve been waiting for you to practice swimming since you learned! I know you are a very exceptional swimmer, but you need to practice!” Mom encouraged me eagerly. I tore off my shoes, showing my stubby toes, taking off my sky blue shirt, and jean shorts. I dipped into the ocean. I swam thoroughly throughout the greenish-blue water. I submerged deeper, and deeper, as the water turned darker, and darker. I stopped going down before I swam into the abyss, and glided forward. A vigorous current hit, and carried me toward a giant rock, it seemed to be slate. My body slammed against the unyielding, rocky surface of the rock. Everything blurred, and everything went darker, and greyer,

I don’t even remember what the water was like. Weeks passed, and it’s been weeks since I swam in the cool, wet water, I missed it. All days became weeks, weeks became months, months became years, years since I felt, the refreshing feel of water. Today has been 15 years since they had saved me, but unfortunately, 15 years since I’ve been in water, I might as well not know what water is anymore. I watched the waves of the ocean trying to come to me, I see the foam reach the land in front of me, and race back, knowing that I most likely will never be in the water. The tall waves, that would drench you with water if you had come near, shrink, shrink, and shrink until the tips become seafoam, and unwillingly, go back, back into the ocean, where it belongs, where I belong. I noticed way above the ocean, in the cloud-ful sky, the clouds began to darken, and darken till the clouds altered color to a dark, dark, dark grey. The rain began to fall, water droplets trickled, about to fall on me, and I would begin to feel water, but the wife of the fisherman who saved me from death put and umbrella over my head, and I could hear the sounds of the tiny, tiny, tiny droplets of water fall on the umbrella, I was jealous. She pulled me inside, boom, I heard lightning crash down, I looked out the window to hear, and see the coming thunder, boom, there is was again. The fisherman forced an umbrella into my hand, not letting me let go, we rushed outside, on the top of the mountain near us, where there was a village, a place to take shelter, shelter that was safe from the thunder of the storm. The fisherman fell back, and tripped, his wife didn’t see, she pulled my hand forward, as he was stuck, and now lost at