I’m not good at swimming. Mainly because I can never hold my breath for more than ten seconds, but now it seems like minutes have passed since I have yet to gasp for air. Sheer terror has a grip on my throat, and no scream will release into the room. They warned me not to sleep with a limb hanging off the bed, and I didn’t listen. Now something with cold bony hands grip the ankle of my hanging leg. With every move I make its grip tightens as its long nails dig into my skin. I’m afraid to move again. Afraid…afraid it’ll pull me under, so I hold my breath and sit still till morning.
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