Monday, December 28, 2009
Want a Sample?
He released a bit of air to ease the tension in his lungs, to ease the need to gasp. But it didn't help. It never helped.
He quit thrashing. Usually if he held still for a long time, the master would pull him out, thinking he was dead. He let his arms float to the surface and his legs relax behind him. With the edge of the fountain pressing against his midriff, it made holding his breath that much more difficult. He wanted to thrash, but he forced himself to go limp like a dead rat.
Enough time had passed for his act to become believable. But the master didn't pull him out. Maybe this was it. Maybe this time he'd actually die.