by Marc Lowe
The waves are coming. The sky above is a brilliant, burnt orange. Water fills my mouth. I choke. My limbs flail, and I go under. Help me. Somebody, please. I open my eyes to a watery world. Pieces of flotsam. A memory of childhood. Bathing in the sink. My grandmother's happy face. Her red hair. And then… The water fills my ears, my nose, my open mouth. I am drowning. I cannot save myself. My grandmother pulls me out. She is crying. Laughing, crying. She lifts me up. I, too, am crying. The undertow pulls me further in. My lungs are filled with water. My limbs go still. I float skywards. Somebody, please. This is the record of a drowning.
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Written today, June 11, 2010. With inspiration from How to Destroy Angels' song of the same title. Previously unpublished.
Haunting, creating a certain longing in a short paragraph...
I so liked the comparison - now, drowning in the ocean - remembering an earlier time, grandmother bathing, losing her grip on the infant, as Gary said it is haunting...
And I am left wondering - does our narrator drown... whether it's not actually true that our whole lives flash before us, but rather one key memory... from childhood.
Very effective. This is my second time here today reading this piece. *