Flash Fiction: Pool Horror Story

By: Emma Lou Pike

“You’re dying but you don't have to cooperate so enthusiastically” - Leonard Cohen 

The record for the longest time treading water is held by Aashish Singvhi, a California resident who, in 1997, spent 85 hours submerged in a constant state of insubmersible struggle. However, the average untrained schmo, like myself, could probably manage two to three hours at a stretch. And then what happens? Do I run out of steam and just let myself sink into the warm, chemical depths of the monumental downtown swimming pool? Do I inhale and hope for a quick end? Will someone rescue me before I fall into despair-O? 

Everything about this place is a contradiction. The harsh, burning chlorine smell from the warm, inviting water. The iridescent strip lights overhead and the dark, moldy corners of the tiled walls. The heavy chain around my ankle, cutting into my too-thin skin and willing me down. 

Their faces are blurred behind a swirling sunshine wall of limoncello glasses, but I can see through the cracks; the hazel coloured eyes, the quiet elegance, and hear the dulcet tones of the voice of Leonard Cohen. The other man is stooped, withered and elderly, with a long white-grey beard matching his clothes; white and flowing, but dirty and torn. The pair

speak in hushed tones at their table behind the wall, each sipping from a small glass of limoncello from the tower. 

I cry out to the men at the side of the pool and they halt their gentle assembly, turning to face me; kind but unmoved. 

I don’t know how long I can do this. The chain feels heavier with every kick. I beg them to free me but they can’t. They won’t. 

I hear “She’ll figure it out for herself” as the water closes over my eyes, and I see the face of my mother as I sink downward into darkness.