Drowning Story
Matthew Ryan Fischer
Cordelia was choking on something. It was dark and she couldn’t
see. She reached for her neck as if that would really do anything. Her arms
were heavy and lethargic and unresponsive. She didn’t understand what was
happening. She couldn’t remember where she had been or what had been happening
just prior to the realization that she was choking. She thought she should be
able to remember that. But it wasn’t there. Maybe it hadn’t been there at all.
Cordelia was wet. She wasn’t choking, she was drowning. She was in
the water. It was dark and she couldn’t see where she was. Her arms were
lethargic because she had been treading water. They were unresponsive because
she was exhausted. But why was she in the water in the first place? She
couldn’t remember. She really thought she should know that.
Perhaps she had been swimming and had hit her head. That would
explain the short term memory loss. But her head didn’t hurt, and she couldn’t
see anything nearby that she could have hit. If she had been pulled under and
hit a rock, then she should still be able to feel the rocks at her feet. But
there was nothing. She was in deep deep water.
Cordelia yelled for help. There was no answer. She didn’t see any
lights or any indication of land. She was alone. Lost. Adrift. She could tread
water, she was good at that, but she didn’t know for how long. Morning would
come. Sunrise would come. She would be able to see something. Something she
thought. Anything she hoped. She needed to see something. She needed to know
she was close to something. Otherwise all the treading water in the world
wasn’t going to help her to survive adrift at sea. Hours and hours were going
to pass between now and then. She had to stay strong. She had to stay resolute.
She had to hold out hope. Her body was fit, but she had to make sure her mind
was too.
She had calmed down from her abrupt awakening and
began to realize just how much her body hurt. She felt like she had been in an
accident – her body and arms ached. Her cheek and jaw hurt like they had been
struck, and she was pretty sure something had happened on the back of her head.
She was lightheaded. That could have been a sign of concussion or maybe she had
been drinking earlier. If she had been drinking earlier, then why was she out
in the ocean? Where was the boat? Where were the people she had been with?
Didn’t they realize she was gone? Wouldn’t they check the water for her?
Cordelia had a suddenly chilling fear – perhaps she
had been at sea and perhaps she had been drinking with others, but perhaps they
weren’t looking for her because they were the source of her body’s aches and
they were the ones that put her in the water. Perhaps she had been left here to
slowly die. Maybe they already assumed she was dead. Maybe she could use that
as motivation to survive. Survive long enough to identify them.
That was a pipedream. She knew it. But she had to have
hope. Otherwise it was just too much. Too terrifying. Too debilitating.
She was sad. She was alone. She didn’t want to die.
Not yet. Not like this. She had hopes and dreams still. She fought the water.
She pushed her body. This was not her end. She desperately wanted for this to
not be her end. What a sad way to go. Lost. No trace. No record. No one would
ever know and there would be no body to bury or to create closure. It was
heartbreaking.
Cordelia realized she was crying. She told herself she
was crying, not because of fear or sadness, or because she didn’t want to die,
but she was crying because of how tragic it would be for there to be no body
and no closure for those left behind. She tried to stay focused on that. She
was hopelessly treading water and needed all the motivations she could get.
It would be dawn soon. It had to be dawn soon. She was
sure of it. She promised herself that it would be.
Cordelia tread water and hoped and prayed. She was
sure that someone somewhere knew what happened to her. She was sure of it. She
didn’t know what good that would do her now, but it was a comforting thought.
She lasted as long as she could, and fought for as long as she could. Cordelia
was a fighter and she was going to fight until her final breath.
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