flash fiction, short story

treading water

Pax is underwater, hundreds of feet below. It’s dark around him, but he sees, far and away, the light shining above the surface. An illuminated ellipse. Rippling. Pax could go there. He could swim up. Break through. Feel the warm sun on his skin. But he is stuck. He’s not drowning, but he’s sunken, heavy and tired, deep down these cold, brackish waters. Treading. Treading. If only he untied the bricks at his ankles. If only he could drop the weights. He could float, then. Up, up to that pool of radiant light. It would be good to breathe again.


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