The coldness hit first, consuming my body, begging to pull me under. It wrapped around me like a blanket, unyielding and tight. I felt my clothes grow heavier, their weight becoming a debilitating burden. I fought for a breath, my gasps becoming constrained and brisk. Seawater flushed into my mouth as the waves’ intensity grew. We knew the storm was coming. We had no choice. We learned about drowning in school, but the vague memory was just a blur; everything was. My eyes burned. I knew they would never find me, the night too dark and the water too rough. The taste of the salt burned my throat, like swallowing grit; the salt eroded at the corners of my lips where they now sat cracked and split. Next came my body, its once resilient form now detaching, I was losing, my muscles straining, my strength ebbing away. My extremities were becoming sloppy, all meaningful movements had been taken from me, my body felt as if engulfed in flames, reality was edging further from me, and I was slipping under. Although everything was already dark, the night was thick as if a Stygian veil had cloaked us. The ocean was hiding us, like we had hidden her. The waves collided against my frame, ferrying my body through the water. The cold quilt of murky tide encased my figure, allowing the water to fill my lungs.

We’d always been good at getting away with things: skipping school, petty theft, but this, this was something different entirely. We finally got the thrill we were so desperate for. The boat trip was only supposed to last until we figured things out and got our stories straight. Everyone had known the storm was coming, but what choice did we have?

The boat was my father’s, a beautiful, waxy catamaran. I knew the basics of sailing; my father had tried teaching me, but my mind was always occupied elsewhere. If only I had listened. There was no turning back; we thought we’d be able to outrun the downpour and the tempest that followed, but like anything, you never can. None of us had meant to hurt her; it was just a harmless prank. We never expected her to try and crawl through the vents to get out or get stuck. I suppose this is our karma. The others were no help, frantic, accompanied by a lack of inexperience, rains like this didn’t normally hit till at least early winter. That’s when my footing slipped, as the boat, whipped by the merciless waves, pivoted violently side to side. The feeble ropes jerked through my palms, and I felt the ruthless waves swallow me whole. Like the reaper who decides who lives and dies, I was the hungry foam’s next prey, the sea too acidic to let me live.

My muscles spasm and convulse, my body numb, head under water. The saltiness infiltrates my lungs for the final time. My body gasps in response, a final attempt to breathe. But it’s already too late, the unforgiving surf lapsing me up like a thirsty dog, the current lulling me into a trance. My body sinks as I become limp. What feels like hours struggling, in reality, is only a few restless minutes. Finally comes pure exhaustion, and I plunge further into the icy depths, the fight over.