His Blue Pearl

Sirene’s POV

I cared about what she thought, so when she had dared me, I knew I was in trouble. It was a mere game to her and nothing more. Yet, when my bare feet touched the sand, I felt a change in the waters. It was inevitable almost. Heather pushed me to go on, and I more than complied with a willingness to prove myself, no matter the consequences. She knew it, and that's why she dared me, after just one swimming lesson I might add, to venture into the cold ocean to the buoy not too far out.
Now, I wasn’t as brave as I lead people on to think, so in all honesty; I made a show of putting on my swimsuit and even braiding my hair. But it just prolonged my doom for all about twenty minutes.

As soon as my toes felt the iciness of the water, I knew something was wrong. The sky had grew darker and the waves had begun to crash against my knees. I was steadily pulled deeper and deeper. I looked back towards where Heather was standing only to see her looking on in slight concern.

I opened my mouth to yell for help, to reveal that I can barely swim; the ocean is too strong for me to fight against but the wave suddenly grew and crashed on top of me angrily. I was knocked off my feet and carried out into the roaring waves. I kicked and thrashed my arms as best as possible to get to the surface but which way is up? Which way is down? I would open my eyes but the water burned and it was too dark to begin with. My lungs felt as if they were going to burst eventually from holding my breath. I was so cold, and eventually it gave way to warmth from over exertion of my limbs.

My struggling was growing weaker and weaker as each second slowly passed, my lungs were begging me to take a breath. I wondered which would lead to my death faster, inhaling a large quantity of sea water or allowing my lungs to burst on their own accord?

How much time had passed? Two minutes? Maybe three? Was the possibility of me being saved still on the table because it sure as hell feels like an absurd idea at this point? I can vividly picture my parents’ cries as the police would go knock on their door after finding my body washed up on some pier.

Heather would be emotionless at this point, not because it was her fault but because she expected me to come back. She was the one to accuse and usually not the one to take the heat at any given point in time. A death would just hang over her head because it’s the other persons fault for not being stronger.

At last, I gave in. The water was salty, not enough to cause discomfort but the taste was there. It lingered.

I expected to die at this point. But nothing happened. I would just inhale more and more of the water. But strangely, I just felt myself able to breathe. I was inhaling water at an alarming pace, and usually one would become full with the amount of water consumed. It held nothing more for me than the gift of air. I found myself opening my eyes to the darkness around me easily at this point. Once the initial shock of the whole situation had worn off, adrenaline had worn down to nothing.

Was this death? Or will I wake up to find this is just a dream. With my eyes wide, I inhaled a rather large quantity of water, watching myself do so. I went so far as to even open my mouth to watch the intake. I inhaled, and exhaled…repeatedly and steadily. It felt as if oxygen was filling my body from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, although it is most likely an exaggeration due to holding my breath for such an extended amount of time.

It was dark, darker than any night I've laid awake. But some instinct told me I was sinking. The same instinct told me to kick my way to the surface and swim back to shore. It's also an instinct I opt to ignore the better half of the time. And thus, my legs did not begin to kick, and I sunk deeper and deeper into nothingness.