[Generated Content]
A soft plink —not of rain, but of something falling from above. Then another. Then a rhythmic drip-drip-drip from the high dive’s platform.
She looked anyway.
Her necklace floated up off her chest. The tiny star turned in the water.
She floated on her back. Raindrops hit her face. She closed her eyes. For a moment, the world was just water pressure and white noise. No college application deadlines. No texts from friends who had already left for summer trips. No father asking, “What’s your plan, Em?” emily 18 alone in the pool at nightrar
And the drain moved.
Not for her. Past her. Toward the surface. [Generated Content] A soft plink —not of rain,
At the deep end, she treaded water. The drain at the bottom was a faint grey circle, twelve feet down. She looked at it. It looked back—a cyclopean eye, unblinking.