The Last Laugh
The water hated him. He was sure of it. He stared at the lake, and the lake stared back at him ominously. Dangerously. Daringly. As if taunting him to try and dive in. He didn't, though. He had learned, at least that much, over the years.
His troubled relationship with water had begun early in his life with a whitewater rafting trip. He was 12 years old and had been looking forward to the outing for many months. He was eager to experience the adrenaline rush of floating on a gushing, angry river as it slapped against the rocks and roared fearsomely. However, the river had other plans and did not take kindly to their raft. It repeatedly tried to throw them off its back like a wild horse and ultimately succeeded. Their boat upended and joined hands with the river as they both tried their best to suffocate him. Luckily he caught hold of a log that seemed to be stretching out a hand for him. He pulled himself onto some rocks - gasping for air and dignity. The gurgling river chuckled by menacingly.
The next time round his encounter with water was in a more solidified state. He was out skiing with his college friends; well, one special friend in particular. They had been hanging out together for a few weeks and like a habit she seemed to be growing on him. He hated the cold but loved being cold with her. His dislike of water paled in comparison to how much he liked this girl, and in a foolish attempt to make an impression, he agreed to go down the black diamond slope with her. The snow must have gotten a tip-off about his wanting to impress the girl since it made sure that he had an accident and made a fool of himself instead. Those few seconds of his fall felt like they happened in slow motion as his body decided to go one way and the legs the other. Once again, water reminded him to keep his distance. But he didn't learn, did he?
Many years later he found himself wading on a beach, as he desperately tried to keep dragging his kids back to dry sand and safety. The ocean kept nudging them, gently but maliciously, to go deeper and deeper. Like a sick person it whispered into their ears, and kept pulling them into the deep end. And when all else failed, it lassoed them in with a riptide. The currents were strong enough to buckle their knees, and then it broke a big wave over them - smacking him on his head. The first gulp of seawater contained unadulterated dread in it. Panic set in, and he started waving frantically - at the kids, the lifeguards, the people in safer areas who could see them - anyone. From afar it seemed like he was raising his hands in the air as if to concede defeat and tell the water that it won. And perhaps that is all that the water was indeed looking for since it receded away, laughing its head off at how effectively it had landed its message: Stay Away!
And so he found himself staring at the lake. All alone in the house after bidding farewell to his family and friends who had gone boating to make sure they made the most out of the lake house vacation. He had made a lame excuse of wanting to exercise, and the anger fueled his workout. He kept running on the treadmill…faster and faster…till he was sweating profusely. He kept drinking water. Then onto the weights, some cardio, and then back to the treadmill. Round and round he went. 1 hour, 2 hours, 3 hours. He was maniacal. All he kept thinking was how much he hated the water. And all the while he kept chugging it down…many bottles of it. Too many bottles of it. Almost as if he was drinking it in spite. Devouring it. He kept going till his body caved in, and he fell to the floor - spent, wasted, diluted.
They came back to find him frothing from his mouth, and he died later that night due to cerebral edema - his brain started swelling, and the pressure in the brain killed him. The official diagnosis was water intoxication. He simply drank too much water.
Subscribe to get these weekly Photo Stories in your inbox!