by Elizabeth McGinn on March 18, 2021

Creative Non-Fiction

ocean water
Photo courtesy of pexels.com

by Anna Pomeroy ’23

It’s quite an odd sensation—the quick plunge into the depths of the tundra water. And while I haven’t truly experienced it, I can imagine the freezing temperatures and numb chills being mistaken by the bubbles glistening across every goosebump as they stream up the surface of skin. I would never romanticize the act of drowning, but I do see it like a rollercoaster ride. The extreme panic that overtakes the body as their vision is immediately blinded by the water collapsing on top of their head is replaced in a matter of moments. Drowning, while seemingly a sufferable experience, is over in a matter of a minute. While our body endures the first few seconds of fighting for breath and attempting to reach back up for air, we become so comfortable with the body that it eventually breaks. The battle ends as the lungs allow water to invade the host. I can only imagine the grand feeling of peace that implodes in the disappointment of losing the fight. As the body sinks and darkness creeps across from the periphery, the sensation of peace overcomes it. Facing up, the body falls into the dark, undiscovered depths of the water, leaving all troubles of life left on the shore. It’s crazy how a visual based on escape strips away the glory of existence in just a matter of moments.