text: Not my first story, but my first in a while. Felt like writing, wrote this, decided to share. I'll welcome any criticism if it is constructive! \ He felt like he had been pushed into the sea with brute force and murderous intent, leaving behind the boat that allowed him freedom from the waves and the deep that scared him and inviting in the deep and dark waters of the Atlantic under him. He had no brick tied to his leg, his arms were not tied up, but he knew that he was destined to die here. He knew he would eventually sink deep, further and further down until breath escaped him and water filled his lungs, becoming just another part of the sea floor. &#x200B; He had not asked to be pushed, and he hope whoever found him would know that. He had been pushed, he thought, his thought screaming at him. I WAS PUSHED. But he knew whoever found him would determine his death as a suicide and move on. If they ever did find him. They probably wouldn't. &#x200B; His father had drowned. He had just remembered that now. His father had boarded a plane from England where he was on business, a plane that was headed toward an airport in New York. That plane had crashed. Right into the Atlantic, where he was now drowning. His father had survived longer than he would. His father had used his seat as a raft, ultimately found the life raft from the plane and used that. His father was careless. He had punctured the raft, put a hole in it. He had sunk with increasing dread, praying to the god who may or may not have been there. He was at the bottom of the Atlantic now. His father had always been careless. &#x200B; He had a chance, perhaps a small chance, but a chance nonetheless of meeting his father at the ocean floor. Maybe he would be found and taken away by a mermaid to ATLANTIS, and he would be accepted into their society and would live a new life. &#x200B; As he continued to sink deeper, he thought of who could have pushed him. There was a party on the boat, not a large party. Just a small party. 10, 20 people. Maybe. For all know he could have slipped. But he needed to blame someone that was not himself. He couldn't have been so careless, not like his father had been careless. He wondered... could he have been? &#x200B; He felt himself getting weaker and weaker, sinking deeper and deeper. He saw fish swimming around, swimming in their world, a world that was not his, he was just simply an uninvited visitor who was careless enough to find himself sinking in the Atlantic. &#x200B; As a young man he had never feared death. At 14 when he heard the news his father had gone missing, presumed dead, he had not feared death. At 14, when he heard his father had found the raft, his father had a chance to survive but didn't, he had not feared death. When his mother was struck with Lupus which could ultimately kill her and at the very least would give her excruciating pain, he had not feared death. &#x200B; What he had feared was hopelessness. The feeling of dread and pain that accompanied the feeling that he had no more power. He had no power now, he could feel his body giving up, relaxing, finally realizing that he would sink, and keep sinking. He closed his eyes one final time. Saw nothing.