The Drowning Man
A short, short story
Written by Cory Kutschker
A calm, a peace and then panic. An arrhythmia sets in and that grotesque overturning of the stomach upon that sight. The black is extending to me, swimming upwards, overtaking the grand blue of the sea. Within this time, a throttling of my limbs churns and distorts my field of vision as those precious and fleeting bubbles are produced from my mouth in abandonment. Oh dear Clara! Shall I never return to you?
Hypnotic. A field of terrible boiling light is before me, yet beckons.
A choice. To chance the abyss or to make agreement with this mystery.
I have chosen. A ring of orange with four black stripes splashes onto the surface of the sea. Oh! If only I could reach it! I cannot, but reach out to that fearful luminescence. With half a mind, I observe myself ascending slowly. My head breaks the water as it chops around me with caps foaming white as sturdy gales pile them up to staggering and frightful heights. But I remain atop of them as I grasp the ring firmly. The sea heaves and the skies churn as I bob along. I am small on this plain. A vessel is behind me, riding the rolls of the water. Loud cries erupt from the crew for me to "swim as [my] life depends upon it." I am dragged up onto the deck. As I gag and sputter, spewing out reams of vomit and swallowed water, I peer over the edge to know the nightmare, countless more heads bob out of the water wailing for help, as the vessel pursued a distant land on the horizon.
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