Surf crashes onto sand, whirling and sucking as it advances and releases.

Shhhhhh, it whispers, as it whips the grains into a frenzy. It stings as it abrades her bare legs.

The tug of the tide is strong and inviting, pulling her deeper.

White-hot moonlight sparkles off the waves, piercing her eyes and rendering her momentarily sightless. Motes of light dance across her lids as she blinks involuntarily, the seared tears mingling with the salty spray.

Rocks bruise her feet as she slides deeper, until she can start splashing out, her powerful arm muscles finding the rhythm: over, under, breathe, over, under, breathe, over, under, breathe…

Crashing dissipates to quiet lapping as the water deepens, darkens, chills.

The dichotomy of fevered skin and icy water, pins and needles, shivers. She can”t feel her fingers. Are they even still there?

How far is enough? How far is too far? Her next breath is filled with salt water and she chokes, her rhythm shattered. Sharp pain inside her lungs, her oesophagus convulses, forcing the water back up.

Perhaps this is too far. Her muscles spasm, now weak and spent, no longer cutting the water, but dragging it.

She turns for shore but can’t see it – the moonlight has been hijacked by cloud.

Swimming. Paddling. Floating. Body cold, brain… distant.

Her next breath is more water than air, the next has no air at all.