You arch your back, flex your feet, grab the railing, and propel yourself forward. As you break the surface of the water with your skin, it floods into your ears, hits your eyes, swirls your hair in circles. As you glide through the depths, your heart quickens as your oxygen level drops. You wonder how much longer you can hang on before emerging. There's an object in front of you, and you have to let more of your precious oxygen go, to scurry to the floor. You come straight up to the top, feeling as if your lungs are on fire. When you break the surface again, for a moment your hair is covering your ears completely. This makes the only sound you hear your panting. For a moment you breathe in and out, feeling as if you're the only one in the world, hearing only you breathing. And then you smooth back your hair, and you can hear the playful screaming of your siblings and you feel the chlorine burning your eyes. And to go back to that world, the world only those who venture under the water's surface find; you have to dive again.
And again.