I’m in a pool. 

The sun is shining down on my face. I’m with my mother and father, playing catch with a beach ball. We’re laughing.

My fathers grin holds no stress, no worries, nothing at all. It’s so light. Weightless. 

I close my eyes in the warm breeze. I breathe. I feel a happiness in which I’ve never felt before.  I’m so giddy it takes every ounce of my being not to giggle. I am calm. I have a tan, and it stains my arms and legs like coffee stains on book pages. My shoulders are peeling with dead, burnt skin. Green, groomed palm trees surround the pool in a forest of joy. I move with grace as I catch the slippery, colorful ball into my pruney fingers. 

I toss it back to my father, and miss by at least three feet. I laugh hard. Very hard. 

After we regain our composer, he goes to retrieve the ball.

A shadow begins to crawl over everything. It starts with the ground surrounding the pool, then invades the sky. It’s water. Gray water. I try to run but I can’t move. 

I’m frozen.

My mother tries to tear me from my trance. My father joins in. 

I. Can’t. Move. 

It crashes down on us. The tsunami of terror is full of debri and dead bodies. So many dead bodies. I try to breath, but my chest burns with a million fires. My eyes can’t see and my lungs can’t breathe. My brain can’t think.  My ears hear nothing but the surge of the gushing water. 

There’s a sound. It’s the boy. My cousin. He’s screaming his lungs out. The thought of him all alone nauseates me. My eyes open, ready to search, and see him. He’s reaching out for me. He’s almost here. His fingertips brush mine. He’s dead.

I failed to save him. Again.