Wendy
They shove me under the water. It's soundless and cold down here, with little light. I suck, drawing water into my mouth. I don't know how, but I get air from that. I don't have gills; I don't have fins or scales. I look normal, but I can breathe underwater. And, believe me, it's hard. Your natural instinct is to hold your breath. I used to have to wait until I was forced to suck in water; (because I was drowning) then I would breathe, but not anymore. Now I can force myself to suck and breathe.
It took them months to figure out my power. I went through fire. I lifted rocks. I was electrocuted. Broken. Bruised. And, finally, held underwater for thirty minutes before I died and was brought back. That was the first time I drowned. It wasn't the last.
Yes, I have seen Death. He isn't a skeleton, he doesn't have a scythe. He is a cloak of blackness, so black you can't see his face. It flutters as he floats toward you, and he reaches out a pale, pale hand and crooks his finger. Cold, misty slivers of air follow him, and you have no choice but to go to him. You feel cold all over, and he tilts your head back and reaches down your throat, looking to grasp your soul. You want to scream, to fight, but you are paralyzed.
I don't know what happens next. I've never made it past that part. I hope I do, until I see Death again. Then I want to be anywhere else, even back at the facility.
People have different feeling when they are terrified. Some become paralyzed. Some have their throat become blocked. Some have a knife in their stomach. I don't. I have a cold hand wrap around my heart. I shut my eyes in the classic I-can't-see-them-they-can't-see-me defense move. And I freeze. I could move if I wanted to, so I'm not paralyzed, but I become a rabbit. Frozen, eyes squeezed shut, praying that terror will pass you.
Terror is Death's brother. Terror is the hand covering your heart, Death is the knife that stabs your heart. Fear and pain, Terror and Death. Both visit me underwater, in that calm, silent, cold world.
I run out of oxygen underwater. Apparently, I separated water from air, (like I said, I'm not sure,) and there are not enough to sustain a human for a long time. I run out of air in about thirty minutes. Then I faint. I drown. They pull me out when they see my heart rate and the flat line on the monitor. I'm revived, given a few breaths, and shoved back in. Hour after hour. I am drowning every day. You can only visit Death so many times. He'll only let you escape so many times.