Underwater

Philip Malazarte

Warning: this short story contains graphic descriptions.

I wake in a cold room, dazed and confused, sore all over. I feel a light sheen of sweat on my face. I don’t know where I am, or where I was before this. Then I start to panic, and as I open my eyes, and a light blinds me. I shut them tight, and try to wait for my eyes to adjust. When I can finally see, I take in my surroundings. I’m in a box, made entirely of worn cement, and a single fluorescent light,the only thing that seemed to be new in the room. I notice a hole in the ceiling, directly above my head, barely big enough to fit my hand. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of my brain, like I’ve been to this place before. But I just can’t put my finger on it.

I try to stand up to get a closer look at the hole in the ceiling, thinking that it might be an escape route,  but I’m tugged back down by my wrists. I grunt in surprise as I’m pulled back down to earth, and when I looked down to find the culprit, I saw chains. Half inch thick steel ropes wrapping around each of my arms. I look down even farther and see that the chains are bolted to the floor. I try to pull out of them, but they only get tighter. I struggle harder, desperately trying to free myself. But the harder I pull, the more frustrated I get. Soon I’m twisting, tugging, screaming, and shouting. I try my hardest to free myself, but in the end, I’m left with nothing but a raw throat and bruised wrists. Then I feel something on my face. It drips down onto my mouth, and I lick my lips. Water. I look around the room for what might be the cause, and I remember the hole in the ceiling. I cock my head at it, curious about what the purpose of this hole could be. Drip. More water falls onto my face, and I suddenly hear a sound like metal being torn to shreds. Drip. The sound starts to get closer, and I realize that the sound is coming from the hole. Drip. I try to escape my chains again, doubling my efforts, because I don’t know what’s coming out of that hole. I don’t even know if I’ll make it out of this room. I feel more water rushing down my face, making my eyesight blurs. Yet as it floods into my mouth, the water tastes salty. Then I realize that the water isn’t coming from the hole, it’s coming from me. They’re my tears. I do my best to wipe them off my face, and I tug harder at my bonds, impatience, desperation, and pure animalistic fear screaming at me to GET OUT. Then I realize something, and I stop struggling. I look up to make sure I’m not hallucinating, but I’m sure of it. The water has stopped. I can’t hear the screeching anymore. I feel relief shoot through my tired, spent body. The bruises extend up the length of my forearms now, and have started bleeding from the chafing. I slump in my chair, dazed and in pain.

Drip. My eyes widen, the dread returning, and as I look up to see white foam, I realize what the screeching was. An ear-splitting scream tears its way through my body and out my mouth as it all comes crashing down. Water. Thousands upon thousands of pounds of it. Slick, freezing water rains down on me, throwing me around, pushing me up, down, sweeping me off my feet, shoving me into my chair.  I make one more feeble attempt to free myself, trying to conserve my breath, but suddenly I feel my chains dissolve, my seat disappear, and the room fade away. I don’t know where I am. Up is down and down is up. My sense of direction is gone, of all the throwing around robbing me of it. I am just a blip, lost in a raging sea. There is nothing in my mind but the water. The endless, black water. The rushing torrent, the cold, the weight. It seems like it’s whispering to me, telling me: Give up. Just let go. I’ll take care of you. I’ll hold you. Come to me. You’ll forget everything. Just let go. The water worms it’s way into my mind, seeping into the pores of my skin, chilling my bones, numbing my nerves. My body starts to shut down. My arms stop waving. My legs stop kicking. Everything just stops. My mind becomes blank, colors and thoughts fading away as if a heavy blanket has been thrown over them. I don’t struggle anymore. I’m done struggling. I just let go. 

As I sink into the depths, my eyes start to close. I do my best to keep them open, to force myself to stay awake, to stay alive. But against my will, they close. Soon, I don’t even hurt anymore. I can’t feel a thing. I’m at peace. Finally, after all the pain and suffering, I’m at peace. Then something weird starts to happen. I vaguely sense the weight being lifted off my chest, and as feeling slowly returns to my body, I notice that my body is being shifted. But as I’m being shifted, I feel my mind being wiped clean. I feel memories that I know are important to me just pop out of existence. Everything starts becoming all garbled up, and I start to forget…what was I just thinking about?

My mind is muddled. Like a light fog has settled over my memories, hiding things behind a curtain of white. It’s like there’s a part of my brain that’s missing. Like something that was there before isn’t anymore. What happened to me before I got here? Where am I?  Who am I? It isn’t possible to lose that much of your memory, right? Right? I realize that I’m in a sitting position, a cold and uncomfortable metal chair underneath my body. I feel sore, as if I’d just been through some great physical exertion, and there’s sweat on my face, but I don’t remember doing anything before waking up in this chair. Then I feel something else, something deep inside my subconscious. A nugget of hardened, condensed, fear. I shift in my seat, and I feel the nugget burst, releasing a cloud of terror inside me. I am shocked awake, my eyes open, and I’m blinded by a white light. I shut my eyes as fast as I can, pain searing into my brain. I wait for my eyes to adjust, and when I feel like it’s safe, I open my eyes again, squinting against the bright light. I see cement walls all around me, a ceiling light, and a hole in the ceiling, about the size of my hand. This place seems familiar, but I just can’t remember where I’ve seen it before...