My Last Swim

The last time I went for a swim was when I was ten years old. I have not set one toe into a pool, lake or ocean since that day. Up until that moment I had loved the water, the feeling of weightlessness, but the terror from that day ruined water forever for me. My sister claims to this day the entire event was an accident and meant no harm, but I’m not sure I can believe her. After all, she wasn’t the one in the water when ‘it’ happened. 

I have tried for years to forget what happened and even moved to the mountains where I wouldn’t be surrounded by the water I had once loved. As I became closer to becoming a mountain girl instead of a frequent beach goer, memories of that fateful day kept coming back. I had hoped for a reprieve, but my memories seemed to be coming back more forceful than ever. The sound of the waves, the cold ocean water, the seagulls flying overhead. But as the memories came back fast and hard, I became to question each one. Had it even really happened? 

As the memories invaded my everyday life and turned into nightmares as I slept, I knew I had to come back to the scene of the crime. Twenty years later, I still remembered everything about the day my sister and I found the body on the beach. 


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