It's difficult to breathe.
My psychiatrist says that in order to be saved, one must want to be saved.
"Are you alright?" Cherie calls from the deck.
The waves don't give me a chance to respond. Instinctively, my eyes turn upward as I'm being pulled under.
Please, not yet.
"John!"
I want a second chance.
It's Cherie’s hand, reaching out, but for some reason it slips away. My mind's going in circles and I need to focus on something, anything.
24th place (out of 35) in the 19th Annual Interactive Fiction Competition.
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