I clutched the wooden paddle against my chest. My arms sore from the constant back and forth. I could feel their eyes on me. I could sense their ill intent. Water splashed in my eyes. It was cold. Bone chilling. Hope taking. With each push and pull the little voice grew louder. Suddenly I heard my name “Graham!” “Graham hang on!”. It was my mother. Her sillouthe outlined before the bright lights. The smell of soap and medicine burning my nostrils. My body fought against losing conscious like how I had fought against the water. I will not drown. I will live.