Part One.
Beneath the surface of the water, Quaint could see a large distended
shape near his waist, and it took him a few seconds to realize that it was a
trapped bubble of air – which meant only one thing: (well, actually it meant
two things, the first being) - if there was air inside the confines of the
straitjacket, it also meant that there must be a hole (and the second being
that if he could isolate the location of the hole, there was a slim chance that
he might be able to make it bigger…). In earnest, he began his search. Bracing
himself against the walls of the tank, Quaint pushed the material to its
limits, and then he felt something give! With every breath burning his lungs,
he shifted his shoulders out of the jacket like a snake shedding its skin. The
sound of splintering wood made him immediately remember the post’s precarious
condition and he froze. If it split, it would crash down on top of him and with
his arms still constricted, there would be no way to shield himself. Time to
rectify that, he thought. He pushed through the material with his numbed
fingers, probing for the straps. He managed to loosen first one buckle, and
then the other. But once his arms were free, they immediately sunk down into
the water. Being constricted against his body for so long, they had lost vital
blood circulation and they felt as if their mass had increased tenfold.
Quaint’s body was fighting against him and he tasted water. It wasn’t
fresh, no doubt taken directly from the Thames outside. He weighed the
possibility of contracting who knew what sort of diseases, and there was an
argument for him dying of cholera or typhoid before he drowned. That thought
cheered him up a bit. Dying was one thing, but drowning was not on his list of
ways that he wanted to go. It took too long. Too much time to think – too much
time to list his sins, of which it had to be said, there were many. But his
misspent childhood was far from his mind, it was his misspent adulthood that he
cared about. He swallowed another mouthful of foul water as the weight of the
straitjacket around his ankles began to sink, threatening to take the rest of
him with it. It was taking all his strength to keep his feet up. It felt as if
a pair of unseen hands had hold of his ankles and they were dragging him down,
deeper into hell itself…
The Enthusiastic Amateur will continue right here on Wednesday 14th March 2012!!!
In the meantime, please check out the Cornelius Quaint Facebook page and Twitter for more information.
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