underwater swimmers

I stood on a white beach, the taste of salt on my lips, the smell of it in the air. Foamy waves lapped the shore and sides of a narrow rock spar that formed a land bridge to an island, my home. I had built a tiered, trellised, crenelated sandcastle and must show my family. But the tide had come in; the bridge was submerged. A tunnel cut through the rock beneath the bridge. I’m a strong swimmer, I dived in and began to traverse the underwater lane. I must be nearly there. My muscles began to ache. My lungs heaved against my chest: I need air, Lord. I turned to go back but many people swam behind me: They’ll never swim back in time. They’ll drown. I’ll drown. Must go on. The pain in my chest and limbs increased with every stroke. I won’t make it, Lord. My arms pulled back feebly once more, my legs executed a shaky whip kick. Just then, a hand reached out, caught hold of me, and pulled me to shore.

Right now, things are beyond tight financially: I’m skimping on medicine and food, and struggling to keep my apartment. There is hope of a good job that would address my financial needs. For now, I will be applying any donations to making it through this cataclysmic time. Thanks for your help. (I do continue to write.)



%d bloggers like this: