Beach hole

It was a hot day, but it was cool in my hole, with water round my ankles and shade from the walls. I had brought a few things down, book and snacks and water bottle; it was getting awkward to climb out. Hard work, but fun. I rested my head on the sand. The children playing up above were muffled, like a dream.

The walls were weeping, and I thought how alive seawater seems, and yet how cold. I saw the slip just in time to know I couldn't stop it. The children went silent. The sun went out. The sand was too heavy to struggle with; I couldn't even open my mouth to drown. But there was a strong hand pushing through the sand, reaching to me. Grasping tight and cold around my ankle. Pulling me down.