Instead, she opened a notebook—the blank one she had been saving for something important—and wrote at the top of the first page:
Don’t, she thought. Don’t stare at the drain. Every horror movie tells you not to stare at the drain.
And the drain moved.
Emily slowly got out of the pool, water dripping from her hair and down her body. She stood on the edge, shivering slightly in the night air, and gazed up at the stars. The world seemed vast and mysterious, and for a moment, she felt tiny and insignificant.
For a while, Emily just floated there, enjoying the peacefulness of the night. She didn't think about school or work or any of the stresses of her daily life. All she thought about was the present moment, and how good it felt to be alone in the pool at night. emily 18 alone in the pool at nightrar
It started softly, ticking the surface like a thousand small f ingernails. Emily pulled her hood up. She had worn her oldest swimsuit under her sweatshirt—a faded navy one-piece from sophomore year. She didn’t know why. Ritual, maybe. Or preparation.
The internet loves a "missing person" story, even a fictional one. The name "Emily" is common enough to feel real, and the setting is relatable. Many amateur writers have taken this specific prompt to create short stories about: Instead, she opened a notebook—the blank one she
Floating felt like the opposite of everything she had been taught to do. In school, she learned to push, to strive, to achieve. On social media, she learned to perform. But floating required none of that. It required surrender. She had to trust that the water would hold her. That she wouldn't sink. That even in the dark, even alone, she was still supported.