Deathbed- a dream by Angus Stewart, laid to rest in Prose
Bubbles of jellylike trapped air rose upwards through the pool's cyan water. Before his eyes and all about him they climbed as he pushed/glided by cumbersome underwater breaststrokes toward the tiled edge. Here he hoped to clamber up the side and out of the pool. He did not really know why he wanted to do this- nor did he know how long he had been swimming, or how he had got there. It didn't feel important. Maybe he had swum until his paid session was over and it was time to leave, or until he was too shrivelled to continue. Maybe he had stayed underwater until his eyes stung unbearably. Maybe he had appeared out of thin air.
His biceps and triceps squashed and tightened as he tried to pull his lank bodyweight over the pool edge onto the dry tiles. Less easy than perhaps it might once have been. W
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