A Piece of The Sun

33. Irrigation

Author POV

Jean swam in the pool for what felt like hours she had to have been in the depths of the pool, the first two hours she wasn't alone herself, the pool had been full of people and then she was finally alone. She's done to the deep end all the way to the bottom, for a moment she felt relief and quiet, she sat at the bottom of the pool for a whole minute and a half, contemplating her relationship with Noah, finally giving some power to the idea of him like she had been trying to avoid all week. She wanted to call him, but she did miss him and the hallucinations of Death made her longing worse, she just wanted to go home now. She exhaled and released a long inhale, air bubbles fluttered and tickled her cheeks as she came up for air.

She bobbed her head up thinking for a minute that she was not alone, but heard no one and saw no one in the vast pool. It was a navy-grade pool, tricked out with all sorts of functions to simulate tough ocean conditions. It was after training hours, there wouldn't be any more lessons today, it wasn't on the agenda. She waded for a moment and slowly began to swim closer to the ladder.

She began to feel the water hasten, whirling from the outer corners of the pool and creating ripples inward, she quirked a brow, quickening her feet, legs, and body toward the ladder. As the waters swayed, growing choppy, and tossed her around lightly, only minimally deterring her efforts. She puffed a frustrated breath, determined to reach the ladder but was met with more pushback, and each moment passed as she was mere feet away from exiting the waters rowed, she fought harder not to go from one extreme to the next; Frustration, profusely bleeding into fear. She knew this was the handiwork of some scheming student in the compound, but the more she expressed fright for her position the worse it would get, the farther from the ladder she would be.

Now the water was in a full cycle, whirling as one heavy tornado, she'd gone from spin cycle being tossed back and forth as though she were another item of clothing in a washing machine, to now being waved about. She was no longer in the same spot in the poor, she lost count of what corner she was at. A vortex began to form in the center, planning to drain her and swallow her whole in the middle, she began to tumble around, bobbing her head upward aggressively now stealing breaths as it would pull her down every few seconds. White waters slapped across her face, her long cursed braids coming undone and blinding her, water flushing her nose and her nostrils burned as she cried out, screamed for help, for anyone to come and save her.

She began to think of her father, and how much he loved her and believed in her. She loved him just as much, their relationship so healthy and strong, she feared for a moment like this without him and the rage of losing someone so vital, to be gone from a simulation even with the knowledge of how to swim, these waves and cycles tore her from both sides attempting to pull her apart and drown her. She floundered, giving up and recognizing death and fear in its face. Fuck being calm and getting out of a situation, she felt like she would die and so she mind as well scream, have it all out if she were going to go out.

"Papa!" She cried, her heart aching.

Just when she thought the waters couldn't get anymore rougher with her, they did, they washed over her, punching her scalp first in an overwhelming uproar, and she could not bob up for air anymore. An undertow snapped at her feet, glugging her in and sinking her down even as she suffered, trying to swim upright.

New muscle or not from this week's set of lessons, tests, and performances, she was too weak. She wasn't on any sort of drug or enhancement, she would die the way she was born. She didn't want to give up, she felt afraid to give up. She battled between giving up and trying again. She deserved that much, she owed it to herself. Die trying. There it was, that infamous line so many used in most of the cliche moments. This was not one of those moments.