The Start

As descriptive as possible without describing certain things at all.

First it was the cold. Icy cold, engulfing their whole body, swalloing them whole and dragging them deeper and deeper into the darkness.

Next came the panic. Fear. A certain sense of disappointment even. Their heartbeat quickened, racing with the tide that threw them around like a senior the rookies. Their hands clenched, unclenched, chlenched again and tried to grab something. Anything. Quick, fast, please. The fingers furrow through the water, carress something, grab it. A plant, no hold, the hand rips it out and they continue to be dragged away.

Suddenly came the pain. A boulder, standing strong where it is placed, in their way. They get thrown against it by the tide, a sharp pain shoots through their back, making their mind stutter for just a second - before they regain their senses. The tide is trying to pull them past the boulder, further down, further away. They grab the stone, slick, mossy, slippery. Try to pull themselves up.
Again, the pain comes unexpectedly. Boulders like these, especially with where they are, tend to be sharp, carved by water, wind and rubble. The edge they had grabbed, blinded by panic and darkness, cuts deep into their palm - and though the cold immediately soothes it, they recoil and loose their grip. The tide reclaims them, pulling them away from their hope.

Slowly came the numbness. Their head is pounding, their movement is becoming sluggish, they see the light of the moon that seems so far away, blurred and distored by the surface of the water…