Into The Ocean

One of Elizabeth's pieces revamped this memory in me and I wanted to write it while it was still fresh and realistic.

     Rivulets of water run down my skin as I stand up from the bath. Clear, untarnished, water is pooled around, reaching up to my calves, the little waves trying to pull me back in like a Kelpie to its victim. My whole body is flushed with the heat of the water and against the stark cold I shiver. My hair is plastered to my shoulders and it drags against my skin as I bend to pull out the stopper.

Woosh.

The once trapped liquid rushes to escape and I'm forgotten. Air gurgles loudly from the little hole and I watch, as I always do, as it's drowned by the constant flow of desperate water. Suddenly, I'm jealous. The clear, warm embrace of the bathwater has completely disregarded me for what's on the other end of that drain and I want to know what's so precious to it. Surely it can't be another person. Now the tub is almost empty and I fear that if I let the last of the water drain before I go, I won't be able to see what's through the escape. Determined, I crouch into the little water that's left and study the drain, reaching my hand out. My fingers fit into the little metal opening, and, surprisingly, it stretches for me. I push my arm in, spurred on by the convincing bend of reality, and soon I'm inhaling deeply for my last lung-full of air. The metal swallows me whole and I'm cramped into a tube, though of what material I can't identify, my eyes having been forced shut by the sting of the water. Air bubbles tickle my legs and I try to ignore them. I'm propelled by water and glide effortlessly through the drain, my lungs beginning to burn with the force of held breath. Just when I fear that I'm going to pass out, I feel something with my finger tips. An opening. Small, but this too, is stretchable. Desperate for air, I push and force my way out of the claustrophobic tube. My head emerges and I pull air into my lungs violently, exhaling quickly before pulling in more. The rush of water is deafening and I open my water logged eyes, blinking a few times to focus. I'm upside down, staring at the face of another child, who is looking at me like I had grown three heads and one was threatening to eat him. Looking down, I saw the tiled wall of his bathroom and my body being squeezed impossibly from the spout which fed his bathwater. Not wanting to be sucked back in, I pushed. It was a strange feeling, this, but finally I managed to get myself out of the spout and into the bath. Again, I looked over at the child, who was returned to his natural position, and found I didn't know what to say. I watched as a slow smile spread his lips.

"Been riding the drain, have we, Jack?"

Author's Note

Just to make this clear, Jack is a kid in this one. Doesn't go around popping into small children's bathtubs unannounced being full grown.

Reviews

[Elizabeth]

Ha!!! Riding the drain? Excellent.