Prologue
I remember when I was five; I wanted desperately to learn how to swim. I had lived in the same house all my life, and for as long as I could remember, a pool has always sat in the backyard — untouched. I never cared much about learning how to swim before, but when the red headed girl down the street started bragging about her swimming lessons — I wanted swimming lessons. And when my parents were too busy to teach me, I took matters into my own hands.
I remember the last time my mother had said no to teaching me, and I got fed up; I ran upstairs, slammed my bedroom door shut and cried in frustration. When I calmed down and started thinking rationally — well, as rationally as a five year out could be, I grabbed my only bathing suit — it was stripped pink and purple. As soon as I jumped into the pool, I regretted it. The water was green and slimy, and didn't smell very good; bugs and leaves floated on the top. I remember when I was in the water; I lost my footing on the slimy bottom and slipped. When I was finally able to get upright, the water was above my head. I started panicking and jumping, gasping for air; I splashed and kicked; when I screamed, the water silenced me.
Eventually my mother had found me. She noticed the patio door was left opened. I remember hearing her scream, as she jumped into the water and pulled me into the shallow end. She promised she would teach me if I never pulled a stunt like that again, but after that I had no interest in learning how to swim. I didn't care if I ever learned.
I've been drowning ever since.