Sinking

When I wake up, the other side of my bed is cold. Not cold like I was in the third-class area of the unsinkable titanic, but cold as in I was in the third-class area of the sinking titanic.

My bed was damp, and I felt water several inches below my top bunk bed. Mary and Martha, the nineteen year old twins who sat on the other bunk was gone, but little Ruth, only nine years old, was still laying in her bunk under mine, was floating odly, and I realized with a start that she was dead.

I then knew I had to get out of there, but my life jacket was floating in the water several feet away, and I could not swim. I just sat on my bunk for a while, staring, until I felt water lap at my bare toes. I knew I had to jump- but now my life preserver was all the way on the other end of the room.

I closed my eyes and leapt, but stumbled, falling face first into the water.

At first it was impossible to tell that I was sinking- I was in shock from the cold- but then I felt it. I felt the daggers tearing into my skin, and the waves pulling me under. I was on the floor. I reached up, but my preserver was several inches out of my reach.

I tried to swim to it, but I only collapsed onto the floor, gripping my ankle that must be twisted.

The waves of the water lapped over me, and I opened my mouth, unable to keep it closed any loner, desperate for air. I only swallowed water, and started to choke, leaving my mouth wide open.

I was going to die.