Phobia - Beneath Still Waters

I used to believe the ocean was calm, like a sleeping beast.

But that was before it woke up inside me.

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My name is Eli. I’ve never gone near deep water since I was six.

My earliest memory is of drowning but they said it never happened.

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“You just panicked,” my mother once whispered, brushing my hair away from my soaked face.

“There was no deep end, Eli.”

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But I remember the silence.

The way the water swallowed sound.

The way it clung to my skin like a living thing.

The cold hands pulling me down.

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Since then, I avoided pools, lakes, oceans even bathtubs when I was young.

I’d shower with the door open.

And whenever it rained too hard, I’d tremble.

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My friends called me names behind my back.

Coward. Mermaid boy. Shark bait.

I smiled. Let them laugh.

Better to be afraid than to be dead.

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But last summer, everything changed.

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My uncle, a marine biologist, invited me on a trip to Zanzibar.

“Sun, peace, and a little ocean adventure,” he said.

He didn’t know about the fear. I never told him.

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The hotel was perfect right by the water.

But every wave sounded like a warning.

Every splash felt personal.

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Then came the worst day.

Uncle signed us up for a reef dive.

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My body went numb. I considered faking illness fever, food poisoning, anything.

But something inside me was tired.

Tired of running.

Tired of being owned by a shadow.

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So, I said yes.

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That night, I barely slept.

I stared at the ceiling, heart pounding, hands trembling.

In my dreams, I was back underwater choking, screaming, sinking.

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The next morning, the boat was waiting.

I moved like a puppet.

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The instructor handed me a wetsuit. “First time?”

I nodded.

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“Don’t worry,” she smiled. “You’ll love it.”

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I didn’t answer. My mouth was dry. My skin itched.

The mask. The tank. The regulator.

All of it felt like chains.

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I stood at the edge of the boat, staring into the vast blue.

It looked endless.

It looked hungry.

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I jumped.

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The water wrapped around me like a ghost from my past.

It was cold.

Too cold.

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Panic rose.

My vision blurred.

I forgot to breathe.

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Then I heard her voice the instructor through the earpiece.

“Breathe, Eli. In. Out. Slowly.”

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I tried.

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One breath. Two. Three.

My lungs remembered.

My heartbeat slowed.

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Down we went.

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Ten feet.

Twenty.

Thirty.

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Coral gardens appeared.

Colorful fish danced around us like spirits.

A turtle floated by, majestic and slow.

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My fear was still there.

But something else grew inside me wonder.

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Then… I saw it.

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A shadow.

Human-shaped.

Floating.

Facing me.

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Eyes wide. Face pale.

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It was… me.

But younger.

Six-year-old Eli.

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I froze.

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He didn’t move.

Just stared.

Accusing.

Afraid.

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I swam forward, slowly.

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My hand reached out — trembling — toward my younger self.

He blinked. Then… smiled.

And vanished.

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I surfaced, gasping.

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The sky was bright.

The waves gentle.

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My uncle called out. “You okay?”

I nodded.

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But I wasn’t just okay.

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I was new.

Reborn.

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That night, I dreamed of water again.

But this time, I wasn’t drowning.

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I was swimming.

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