Drowning - a Sketch

Drowning

I flounder, then slip on the ice. My knee hits frozen water. It hurts. I discover I have lost my mitten. I look for it. It is nowhere to be found. My left hand rests on the ice. The cold is metallic against my fingers. I labor and stand up again. My skates are too tight. I feel uneven without one mitten. I take one step, two. I still look for the mitten. The snow is too deep. It can be anywhere. Then I see it. By luck I see it. It is mostly buried in the snow. I take more slippery steps. There it is. I bend down to pick it up. The ice begins to break. I don’t hear it at first. It rumbles a little. It rumbles softly. Then it rumbles again. It is more than a rumble now. It is more like a pistol. It is more like many pistols. Then I am in the water. It should be cold but isn’t. It isn’t to me anyway. I don’t feel the water yet. I know where I am. I have heard of drownings. They can’t get back up. The ice is too smooth. Their hands cannot grip. So they freeze and drown. I’ve heard of this. You must carry ice-prods. That is the lesson. They provide holds. They save lives. But I don’t have any. And I am in the water. Do I actually think at this point? No, I don’t think at all. I know. I know where I am. I know the drownings. That’s about it. I know I must not drown. I know it’s a possibility though. I’m surrounded by water. It moves and gurgles. It claims me. It gurgles me. There are grasses beneath like hair. I can see with my feet. There is no bottom here. It is possible I will drown. I shudder. It is a heavenly shudder. I shudder out of the hole. I shudder out of the water. I shudder on to the ice. I shudder prone on the cold surface. Then I roll towards shore. I’m on firmer ice. I stand up. I am very, very cold. Still, I do not think. Instead, I run. I run on my skates. I run through the snow. I run for home, one field away. I run through drifts of snow.

Thoughts? I'd like to hear them.
Ulf Wolf

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