The Sound of Sunshine

I’m drowning.

Every single day, I drown, over and over again.

My eyes are squeezed tightly shut.

My arms, once flapping desperately in a bid to escape, now lie still.

My legs feel like lead. Heavy useless tree trunks pulling me deeper, deeper, deeper.

My lungs are on fire and I try to hold my breath, but it is useless because water is flooding them. Now I can’t breathe even if I tried.

And then there is stillness.

Until I wake with a jolt and it begins all over again.

My arms and legs grapple with the water, trying, desperately trying, to push my body back above the surface, until the effort of holding my breath renders them tired and useless and I drown. Again.

For eternity I think.

-*-

At least, that is what I think must be happening.

I flit in and out of consciousness, trying to escape my watery hell, always trying and always failing. The process is always the same.

The only thing that changes is the moment, maybe a couple of moments, right after my lungs are flooded and my body drifts down, down, down.

In those moments, my senses are momentarily awakened. My brain reawakens and though I am still drowning, I can see and hear and smell things that aren’t in my drowning hell. I don’t know where they are. I see lights, lots of bright lights, from those florescent tubes you see in schools and hospitals. I can smell disinfectant and sometimes, more strongly, apple. I can hear voices too. Different voices, but I hear them so often I have begun to recognise a few of them. There is a woman’s voice, a kindly woman who talks soothingly to me. There is an older woman and a man, always at the same time, who sound cheerful, but I recognise that they are sad, pretending to be cheerful. I can sometimes almost feel the woman smoothing my hair back from my face. Then there is a man. He is a rarity and he sounds official. He has a clipped, deep voice, and talks in short sentences, using long words.

The only problem is, I never remember what it is they are saying. It is as though they are standing behind a blurred window and I can’t quite see them or hear them properly, and it frustrates me.

Every day – or maybe every hour, I can’t tell – I suffer. I wake up, as though from a dream, and then almost immediately my lungs are on fire and the water hits them, and my whole body burns and fights and burns and fights and then slowly tires….and dies.

It is those moments, those fine, fragmented moments that eases my pain.

The older woman and the man, those are the one whose voices I cling to, though I am unsure why. I feel I should know them, and I’m drawn to their faraway words. Every time I feel the burning, I hope that it is them that I will hear this time. I want to know them. I want to see them. I need them to save me.

-*-

I wake up.

My eyes open.

Panic arises.

I flap my arms and legs. Come on body!

My eyes squeeze shut.

My lungs are tightening.

Burning lungs.

Burning limbs.

Tired body.

Tired.

Down. Down. Down…

-*-

“You should think about it.” Clipped. Official.

“No, we can’t! It’s not an option.” Panic.

“I’m really sorry, but the brain function just isn’t returning.” Softer.

“But she has moments…” Desperation.

“I know. I’m sorry Mrs Troy, but it is something you need to consider.” Final.

Crying.

Burning.

Burning lungs.

No.

Burning eyes.

My eyes are burning.

My lungs are…not burning.

My limbs are heavy. Like lead blocks. But not burning.

I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, waiting, knowing what would come.

“Mrs Troy, Mr Troy…” Gentle now. Deep, slightly gruff, but gentle. “Your daughter was in a terrible accident. It is a miracle Lucy is still alive. Drowned victims rarely survive. But she is severely brain damaged.”

Drowned victims.

I can hear him.

Then I see images. Fragmented. Jolting images of a boat and water. No, waves. Dark sky. Cracks of piercing lights and thundering roars. A storm. Then burning. Burning, fighting, burning, fighting. Drowning. Dying.

“We know, we know…” she’s crying, shaking.

I can feel her.

My eyes are so sore. My head hurts. I wait for the water.

But it doesn’t come.

Light is pouring in through my eyelids.

“Oh Lucy,” she cries softly, her hand grazing my cheek.

“Please come back darling.” His voice is so soft.

This light is so strong. It’s like sunshine. I have to see it. I can’t see it! Come on eyes!

“Wait!”

I pause, wondering why I have to wait.

“Lucy?”

He’s so close to me. I can feel his breath on my face. I can smell apple. The shampoo my mum buys for us all. I can his breathing, quick and ragged.

“Lucy?”

I have to see him. I have to get to the light! Swim Lucy, swim!

I push with all my might. My eyelids open.

I am blinded.

It is so bright. So amazingly bright.

I squint through it. Figures begin to appear. I can almost see them!

“Oh my God. Lucy!”

“Lucy!”

They are crying. But this time it is with laughter. I stare into the bright yellow light, knowing it is sunlight. And I listen to their tinkling
sounds filling my ears.

As their faces finally solidify before me, I finally gaze up at my parents, and I listen to their joyous cries.

This must be what sunshine sounds like. Laughter. Hope. Joy. Love.