Salty water fills my lungs like
the wayward tears of a giant. I surface, coughing and hacking, only to be
buffeted by fierce wind and dragged back down. I tumble as if falling, but no
air rushes past me. My arms claw futilely at the waves, and I fight my way to
the surface once more. I must endure, help will come. Just as my hope begins to
mount I hear anguished cries, and my head whips around, searching. I search for
the faces that match to the familiar voices. My eyes lock on to the petrified
expressions of two little girls, and not just any two little girls. The sight
of their small faces amid the roiling waters wrenches my heart, and I cry out,
voice hoarse from water that grates against my throat like steel wool. My
sisters. They cling to each other, and I know not whether the wet on their face
is from their tears, or the watery grip of the sea. I feel as if lead has been
poured into my bones and weights tied to my feet, yet I struggle towards them
in the frustrating slow of a dreamer. My limbs scream with pain, and I must
bear it. I am shaking now, too weak to swim towards them, and I doubt they even
know of my presence. A grey fin slices through the churning water, bumping at
them. I know what will happen, and I hope the end will come before I must
witness it. The water closes over my head and I cry out, giving them the last thing
I can, a shred of comfort when death itself is circling them. The only thing worse than living your own worst fear is watching the ones you hold dearest struggle through it. Dying a watery death alone, in the middle of the ocean, is horrid, but to watch the people you love die your death, is insufferable.