Creative Writing Swimming
My alarm interrupts my sleep. I jolt out of bed. My feet pad across my room; I blindly throw on my bathers and grab the usual apple and berry smoothy. I slowly jog out to the car, I see mum waiting with the headlights on, lighting my way, the warmth of the seats are nice in the early morning. We don’t speak on the way to the pool. When I take off my tracksuit I feel uncomfortable, I’m too bulky, my body is uncomfortable. My body glides through the water creating small ripples along the surface. The familiar sickly sweet smell of the chlorine surrounds me, almost suffocating me. I glance at the clock, twenty laps in ten minutes; I’m off my game today. Twenty more minutes till I can get out, I can feel mum’s eyes on me, analysing every move. I feel so uncomfortable and judged in the pool, like the water is assessing my body as I swim. The back of my neck starts prickling as I look over at the girl sitting on the edge dipping her toes in the water, she looks so comfortable and I sigh enviously. I effortlessly kick off from the wall, and let myself drop into the familiar rhythm of freestyle. This girl is constantly in my view; I can’t take my eyes off her. She looks beautiful and confident as she dips her toes in the water my mind wanders off wondering about who she is and how easy her life is.
My neck is sticky and wet as I leave the centre, my large jumper a deep maroon is sticking to my hair and neck. I reach into my blazer, my fingers wrap around the familiar lighter while my other hand searches to find a cigarette, I quickly glance over my shoulder to make sure I can’t still see mums car, I raise the cigarette to my lips my hands sheltering the flame from the strong morning wind. I inhale deeply; the sticky smell of tobacco is comforting. I glance around and see those posh girls from the local private school all standing in their little cliques with their perfect ponytails high on their head, mine still hanging damp around my face. Each drag reaching my lungs
My neck is sticky and wet as I leave the centre, my large jumper a deep maroon is sticking to my hair and neck. I reach into my blazer, my fingers wrap around the familiar lighter while my other hand searches to find a cigarette, I quickly glance over my shoulder to make sure I can’t still see mums car, I raise the cigarette to my lips my hands sheltering the flame from the strong morning wind. I inhale deeply; the sticky smell of tobacco is comforting. I glance around and see those posh girls from the local private school all standing in their little cliques with their perfect ponytails high on their head, mine still hanging damp around my face. Each drag reaching my lungs