oblivious [flash-fiction]

i sat in the room. i sat in the room with the chairs and the table and the tattered curtains. my feet blended into the cream carpets. my eyes blended into the walls. and it was enough that the walls were all that i saw. it was just me. in that empty room. with so much and so little. it was like the sound of rain was gently – ever so gently – tapping on the ceiling; on the walls on my head on my skin but there were no windows. hugging my knees to my chest, i felt as empty as the air; as something that held the world and yet never meant anything. water began to seep in through the cracks. water began to rise. and i could feel it swim against my toes and then splash against my sides and then lie heavy on my throat. it became so much i didn’t know what to do and i didn’t know who to call and I didn’t know who to –
i opened my eyes to the room again. i was sitting in the room. a glass was on the floor, red wine splattered on the cream carpet.
how could i be so oblivious?
it was so obvious.
how could i be so oblivious to drowning and yet feel it all along?

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