Wednesday 29 January 2014

250 Words: Tales from the city: Turtleneck

A great affinity for water has always been in me.  If my skin is not wet it will itch and I become increasingly anxious, my breathing quickening.  

Growing up I would cure this by spending hours in the bath, sleeping in it even-  possible because I have gills as well as lungs.  Situated on my neck, I gained my nickname from the pullover I wore perpetually to hide my shame.  

In addition I was home-schooled by my parents and went on to run my own business from the family home, always wearing damp clothes under a wetsuit to help me concentrate.  

As a result I have always been a recluse and kept myself away from everyone, even now, because I was born a bit wonky and would be labelled a freak: albeit one superior in at least one respect.

It’s perhaps little wonder, then, that I stood out so much when I started to appear in public.  This happened soon after I moved into my own place.  Having gained more independence, I would walk through the city, going wherever I wanted and soon discovered the river.  

I would swim in it, jumping off the bridges (naked sometimes), for hours, feeling the water, the freedom of having so much to move in.

But I attracted attention, became a myth, then an attraction.  My parents shouted, I became scared my secret would be discovered and swam in my turtleneck.  I didn’t know what else to do until the Navy came to call.

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