He had always been afraid of drowning.

His father once told him that if the entire world was engulfed in the sea, then the world would be a better place. His father liked saying things like that when he was drunk. He liked saying, “Be prepared, Champ!” and shoving him into the dark waters of the pool.

He was so afraid of drowning like the world.

He learned to swim, he swam so hard that his chest cramped. He spat the blood that came from his lips when he missed his landing. He swam so hard that no sea would catch him. Nothing could catch him; nothing could throw him off guard in that water. If the world were to be flooded, then he’d be the only that wouldn’t drown.

The clone of him once mentioned how skilled he was at swimming. That it was so sure he would’ve drowned in that plunge. Part of him gaze a small perverse grin on the inside.

He wouldn’t drown with such a feeble attempt as that.