THE ROYAL DOCKYARDS

CHATHAM,  KENT

MAY 31 2008

A momentary lapse of concentration had singularly betrayed twenty five years experience on the dock front, as David's body cascaded,  anything other than gracefully into the chilly early morning water with a benign resonance,  deceitfully betraying the force of impact between living flesh and rapidly flowing tidal water. 

A simple schoolboy error had hastened his entry into the murky depths of a liquid shock treatment to bones and flesh,  and now all he could do was try to focus through the muddy murk,  on any available light source which might offer  the chance once more to breathe in lungfulls of fresh air.

The captain ran back to the dock front wall, upon hearing the commotion,  and upon realising that David was in trouble, pulled the ancient wall mounted Lifebuoy, almost devoid of colour from the many hands which had grasped it's body with a mixture of relief and fear, and threw it,  for all he was worth,  heart pounding in his ears, as near to David's torso as he could manage.

David pushed out his arms and grasped the buoy,  desperately attempting to spit out the foul tasting water which had permeated his nostrils and throat  in those brief moments when the blackness about him caused a fear of impending doom.

Now,  he knew,  he was very much alive.

With the Captain pulling the rope with vigor and purpose, David afforded himself a wry smile, embarrassed at his stupidity, relieved to be safe from the ordeal.