Short bit

Found this piece in my old friendster blog, part of my Creative Writing when I was in my first semester at Melbourne University. If you love true stories, you'll like this one (I hope!). I think some of you have read it, oh well. Enjoy anyway!

“Hold your breath! Paddle with your arms and legs!”

He threw me into the pool and I cried out in surprise. I trashed fiercely, my skinny arms and legs flapping about, desperate to keep my head above the water, just to take in a mouthful of it. It tasted like bug urine mixed with slimy seaweed but I gulped it down quickly, terrified of making a fuss in case he got mad. I started sputtering and coughing, and water came out of my nose.

“Didn’t I tell you to hold your breath? If it’s so bloody hard, just pinch your nose!” he yelled, the sides of his jaw twitching.

You see, two things would happen when my father got really angry. His jaw would twitch ever so slightly, and his nostrils would start flaring, which reminded me of the bull I used to watch on television, during cartoon hour on Sunday mornings. Except he didn’t have a ring pierced through his nose. And this time I was the red flag.

I’m going to drown, I thought helplessly to myself. I’m going to drown, and he’s just going to stand there and watch me. I swallowed another mouthful of icky water and desperately reached out to cling on to my father’s wet shorts which were plastered to his thighs, but he pushed my grubby fingers away.

“Stop being a baby and float goddamnit!”

I decided I was going to drown then. I was going to sink deep into the bottom of the 5meter swimming pool and drown, right there in front of my father, just to spite him. I hated swimming! I hated water! I hated him for making me swim in this stupid yucky swimming pool! I hated him so much!

But then something happened when I tried to drown. I didn’t drown.

I started to float.