A Watery Grave | Teen Ink

A Watery Grave

October 29, 2012
By Sundance PLATINUM, Northampton, Massachusetts
Sundance PLATINUM, Northampton, Massachusetts
24 articles 0 photos 4 comments

Favorite Quote:
All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.
-Shakespeare


Outside there is a deer. A soft brown eyed creature with a perky tail. I’ve often wished I was a deer, because then, I wouldn’t be a human. Humans are clumsy creatures, with large feet. They make too much noise. I’m an exception. I make little noise and am not clumsy. I am like a ghost, except alive. Many people do not even see me, because I blend in. My father pays little attention to me, which is fine with me. He passes me sometimes in the corridor, and he is never smiling. He frowns and mutters angry words under his voice. I wouldn’t like conversing with a man like him. Father is the opposite of me: He is a large lumbering man who is always in a hurry. He never notices the small details, like me.

“Annie… time for your lessons,” calls my sharp eyed, hooked nosed governess. I scurry to my small study where Miss. Henworth waits. She teaches me what I need to know, such as arithmetic, Latin and other things of the like. She won’t teach me science, because she believes it contradicts the Bible. She is very religious, and sometimes I am forced to attend church with her. “Time for arithmetic,” she says in her obnoxious voice. Ugh. I hate arithmetic. Those numbers just seem to swim around, getting bigger and bigger, feeding off of my hatred for them. Miss Henworth assigns me several problems, all of them long and complicated. I have no intention of doing them. What’s the point? It’s not like I am going to ever get to use the skills I acquire. I have never been permitted to go alone passed the gate that borders our property. The only time I’ve been into town, was to go to church with Miss Henworth. I look out the window. There is a gardener pulling weeds… not very exciting. Still, I’d rather help him than stay where I am. I peek at Miss Henworth. She has her long nose buried deep in a book. I might as well just leave… which is exactly what I do.

I run silently along the paths through the gardens. None of the gardeners even glance my way. I pass the gardener I saw through the window. Now that I am free, why would I help him? I continue my sprint until I reach the gate. It’s not locked. That’s strange. I push it open and continue running. I must get far away before I can walk. Thankfully, nobody will notice my absence.

The road is twisty and as I slow down, I realize that I am not wearing appropriate walking shoes. I am wearing a pair of indoor shoes that will probably be destroyed the moment they come in contact with water. As I walk, I see farms with poor children running around chasing chickens. They are all barefoot and have dirt on them. Yuck. They should take a bath, or at least stand in the rain with a bar of soap. I have never been allowed to get messy, so their filth is a complete mystery to me. I feel filthy myself. I am perspiring and it is very warm out. I wish I had some cold water. If I pass a pond…

The road ends abruptly. I should have taken a turn at the last fork. Ah well. My sense of direction has never been noteworthy. I veer left, into the forest. It is slightly cooler and shady, a relief after the intense sun. My pace has slowed and I am in no hurry to get anywhere. If only I had some water...

Am I hallucinating? No, that water is real. What I see before me, is a spring. It is clear and I can see rocks at the bottom and a faint bubbling from where the water is coming up. I lower my thirsty body down and use my cupped hands to scoop water to my mouth. The water is sweet. I could survive my whole life with just this water. I want to submerge my whole self in this water. I peek around and shed my dress quickly, so I stand only in a petticoat. Then, I take the plunge. The water is cold on my sensitive skin and I quickly get goose bumps. Panic arises when I realize that I can’t swim. Stupid! Why didn’t I think of that? I frantically kick my legs in attempt to propel myself to the surface. This fails.

I am drowning, dying, as each second is passing, I’m drawing closer to my watery grave. I wonder if they’ll miss me at home. I try to struggle towards the surface with my arms. This doesn’t work either. I look down, watching as the bottom gets closer and closer. My lungs are panicking, trying to preserve the air left. I relax; I want to die in peace. Tired of fighting, I open my mouth and let my last breath be stolen by the bubbling water around me.


The author's comments:
What is panic?

Similar Articles

JOIN THE DISCUSSION

This article has 0 comments.