Once under the water she always tried to reach the grill at the bottom of the deep end before completing the length – without coming up for air. The dive had taken her right down through the chlorinated water which stung her eyes and reflected blue from the cracked ancient tiles until she nearly reached the bottom. Two deliberate kicks and she propelled herself further down. This was an old fashioned baths: the deep end was really deep, deep enough for a diving board. So old fashioned were these baths that even now, off the ladies changing room, there was a line of cubicles containing public baths and washbasins, where those without bathrooms would come weekly, in the old days, for their ablutions. The place had been old when her mother was growing up and used to come here with her twin sister to swim.
It always fascinated her, the way the water muffled sounds. No more hollow reverberating shouts, echoing around the tall ceiling. It was so quiet down there as she reached for the bottom and let her fingers brush the net-covered grill, giving her the rush of secret fear which flushed down her body as far as her toes as she started her slow steady ascent towards the surface, judged to take as long as it took to reach the grab-rail at the shallow end, just as she judged her breath, eeking out small bubbles with each underwater breast-stoke and kick. The story heard from her mother came back to her then as always. The reason the grill was covered in a mesh: the girl who had dived, just as she had, and on reaching for the grill she had trapped her hand. It was too late before anyone could get to her, and they severed her fingers to try to save her life. She always imagined this as if it was real memory of her own. The panic in the man who went down to get her, as he came back up and shouted for something to cut her free. The hush, absolute hush at the pool side as everyone waited, the blood in the water, the lifeless body being bought to the surface and an agonised groan of despair from those watching. But all she could hear now was a rumble of background noise and the air leaking like silver streams out of her nostrils. Nearly at the end of the pool, as usual, an almost irresistible urge to pee overcame her as the fear of running out of breath caught up with her, just as her head broke the surface of water and she was safe again.
Boadicea's Chariot 
for this:
http://bearsy.wordpress.com/2010/05/25/the-new-creative-writing-challenge/#comment-22310
Not bad Pseu 🙂 I’d say you are in the running for a prize.
PS – I’m surprised that Bearsy hasn’t offered you a “Poet’s Corner” (hint hint Bearsy!)
Excellent Nym,
I am looking for the word ‘secret’, have I missed it?
The stories are turning to the sub aquatic, an environment which has always given me the colliwobbles. This one describes the horror of becoming trapped underwater and the thrill of overcoming that fear. Gripping stuff. 🙂
Good story.
Did you know that urine is the biggest contaminant in swimming pools, and female urine is the most.
Most females automatically pee when they enter while men tend to hold it in (along with our beer guts if there is a lady close by)
Nym, is the pool below sea level or over 200 ft? Just checking? 🙂
Hugh Dear Chap,
There are many different kinds of grape, unfortunately all of yours appear to be sour. 😉
It is a good point, there Janus. Maybe, maybe not. I suppose I thought underwater would qualify, but I’ll wait for the judges decision on that.
The criteria:
“For the next contest: Write a short fiction piece, 1,000 words or less, that includes:
• should not take place between sea level and 200 feet.
• the word “secret”
Entries can be essay, memoir, fiction and poetry, rhymed or unrhymed.
Stories due here by 10 p.m GMT on Tuesday, June 15.”
(‘Secret’ now there, Ferret. It got lost in the editing process!)
Pseu,
I am happy that you have allowed sufficient wiggle room.
Janus on the other hand describes walking along the promenade and paddling in the sea, a blatant transgression.
Rick, I promise you I do not pee in the pool.
Thank you, Ferret.
I like this one a lot, Pseu. Scary and so well written.
Thanks, Jaime.
Have you submitted one? I haven’t seen it….
Ahshully that was a flash back while oop top. 😮
Less than four hours to go…
This describes almost exactly the baths where I learned to swim. I was gripped. Good story.
Nym,
I think you are a day too early. The deadline is tomorrow night at 10pm GMT. 🙂
Hugh,
I have re-read your pome for the 5th time and still after giving it every benefit of the doubt and reading as much into it as I possibly can, there are still parts of it which read at sea level. Sorry.
Having said that, it is a blinding monologue and very humorously penned. I love it, but it just doesn’t fit the rules old bean.
Excellent, Pseu. I was gripped from the start, convinced it was going to end in a ‘what lies beneath’ scenario. Like the way you turned it around.
I’ll be posting details of new comp on My|T tonight, when get my head together.
Does this mean you’ll read mine now Pseu?
Of course, Isobel!
Lovely story, Pseu. I also learned to swim in chlorinated public baths such as yuu evocatively describe. I fear, though, you may thus be showing your age. 😀
OZ
Very well described Nym. It brought back all the horrors of my one and only scuba diving experience. I hate public swimming pools with a vengeance!
Oopps, I thought the deadline was tonight, hence this hurried entry -just over 24 hours to go then folks!
OZ my age is no secret….
I tink scuba diving would be too claustrophobic for me, Ara!
Pseu – I once had a few days to spare on a Pacific island waiting for a flight to somewhere and decided to do a PADI scuba diving course. After the pool sessions on breathing, signals and suchlike I moved onto the reef. Brilliant – like swimming in a tropical fish tank, but the next dive was in the open ocean. Suddenly, no visual references anywhere above, below or to the sides. That did it for me. Never again.
OZ
Sorry to go off topic and be a complete ditz here but does anyone have any idea how you actually post something on MyT?
I can’t even snorkel…wimp that I am
Claire,
I haven’t sussed how you make anything come up under a specific area, such as Creative Writing… but at the bottom of your screen when you have logged on there is a blue area with a small arrow, which brings up a box that includes ‘new post’ button.
Anyone else, know better than me?
PS Is your email working?
Thanks Pseu Do you have to set up a blog first?
Have given up on email after it kept locking me out! I will try again in a bit after I have sorted this MyT bizniss out!
Is setting up a blog over there the same as creating a new post?!
Blonde-ism taking over, obviously.
A good subject for you, Nym. You described the interwoven fear and fascination beautifully. Great Story.
Thanks Bilby.
Claire, being registered allows you to blog as far as I can see on the other side. But you’re asking the wrong person as I’m giving up over there!
Are you?! Hope you stick around for the writing…
That’s what has always drawn me back there.
Oz: I know exactly how you felt. One day I was reading a brochure on shark fishing and the next day I was being cast into the depths of the blooming ocean where said nasties lurked.
I did discover, however, that it is possible to be sea sick underwater. That was just one of the reasons I headed straight back to the boat!
Eurk!
Er precisely how I felt, Nym, in spades!