Hannah, the Diver (Part 1)
Flash Fiction Friday #4
Last week, a fortune-teller traced her finger across a teenage girl’s palm and in a grave voice had warned, “Beware of the water, child.”
Hannah, the child, mockingly laughed and said, “Old woman, I’m a diver. I go into the water every day.”
Never mind that the fortune teller was a woman in her thirties and of sound mind, Hannah categorized the woman as both crazy and old. To her, not entering the water would mean the end of her career before it even began.
What a waste of three dollars, Hannah had thought. She hadn’t been hoping the woman would tell her she’d be a three time Olympic gold medalist in the near future or something life-changing but she hadn’t expected she’d be told something so foolish either.
The water is Hannah’s life. If it wasn’t, she’d be enjoying her summer like everyone else: she wouldn’t be calculating how to sneak into the school to train more once the general summer practice ends.
In her home of incense air, a clustered space of unmemorable hoarding objects salvaged from people’s leftovers, a small round table, two wobbly chairs, someone’s abandoned lumpy couch and a fridge stocked with milk, banana, a week old cheese and jar of mayo: Fern, the Fortune-teller wrapped her moth eaten shawl around bony shoulders.
Ignoring her shivering legs, Fern jerked forward in the girl’s face, grabbed her other hand and repeated the warning, hoping the urgency in her voice would be taken seriously.
But the girl yanked her hand with such force it toppled Fern out of her chair onto the crystal ball she’d gotten for a discount at the pawnshop around the corner.
Glaring at her in disdain, the girl stomped out of the trailer muttering ‘fucking crook’ under her breath. Wild-eyed and jittery, Fern leaped to her feet and rushed to the door but stopped herself from opening it. It wasn’t her place to interfere.
The vision, like all others had been fuzzy. She could be wrong. Sometimes, Fern’s visions don’t pan out as it is shown. Fern would trust what the girl says. After all, divers are known to be great swimmers.
From her position on the diving board, Hannah jumps out of her skin as the door to the pool swings open. Thinking it’s the security guard, she crouches (stupidly considering she’s high up and will be seen) but her worry of being caught is replaced with fear as she spots the girls walk towards her.
The Bitches, as they’re aptly called in whispers behind their backs.
Hannah grips the bars of the platform praying they don’t look up. What are they even doing here? It is summer vacation. Shouldn’t they be in the Bahamas on a yacht or wherever rich kids go?
School is on a break. She is on a break. However as soon as Hannah locks eyes with Olive, she knows her prayers has fallen on deaf ears. She should know by now that no one answers her prayers.
Hannah’s prayers weren’t answered when her family had to move across the country after her father lost his job. Or when she had hoped for a full athletic scholarship to attend London’s most prestigious private secondary academy only to have received half. No one definitely heard her prayers when she’d hoped the first time she was thrown against the wall or slapt across the face would be the last.
“You were right, Olive,” the shortest of the bunch, Saffron says, “Our doll is here.”
Jump in the water or run down? Hannah debates as the girls stop a few feet away. If she swims to the other end, would she have time to heave herself out of the water and run for the doors?
Craning her neck, she breathes a small sigh of relief. Tasha is nowhere to be found. Amongst the girls, she’s the fastest. Yet, Hannah is certain they’ll catch her: she’s not exactly the fastest swimmer.
Hannah wistfully glances at the water again. Beware of the water, child. The warning pops into her head. Fucking crazy woman. Making her second-guess herself. Down below it would be.
Without giving herself away, Hannah slowly climbs down the twenty-four steps. As soon as she’s on solid ground, she counts to one and breaks into a run to the other side, the last thing she hears is Hamra’s, “What is she doing?” before footsteps hurry after her.