Float

Tread.
Breathe.
Never stop moving or the dark, briny deep will swallow me whole.
Tread.
Breathe.
Which is worse: the rain pouring down on me or the siren call of the depths below me?
If Odysseus had not heeded his heart, he would have let go of the mast, but I'm not that strong.
Visions of what's to come begin to slide into my mouth with each salty taste.
Nine circles dance to the forefront...icy cold, but replaced by the burning in my arms and legs.
Tread.
Breathe.
An amorphous figure in the distance. Land? Hope? Fate.
Can't stop while so many need me.
Pain proves that my paucity of energy has not forced me into the whirlpool.
Tread.
Breathe.
Alone but with the ghosts of those who have come and gone, I circle and cut the water over and over.
Have to keep going. How many angels dance on the head of the pin? Can't stop until I know. The pain continues into my side, but I can't stop. Won't stop.
I will float toward salvation in the hope that this water will spill out of the bottle and free the duck trapped inside.
Tread....
Breathe....
Tread....