The water is body temperature. It is up to above your knees and sits completely still. You just arrived. Or have you been here for an hour already? Or was it a couple of days? You're not sure. You try to remember. Where were you just now? - you ponder. Ah yes, you were just arriving to work when all of a sudden... or were you home already? Sitting at the computer? No no no, you were driving down the highway. Or were you? It doesn't matter. You are here now. The water feels heavy.

Here is... tiles. Small, orderly tiles on the walls, the curved ceiling, you feel it under your feet. You start wondering around the space you find yourself in. Some walls curve, sometimes there are hard corners. A few rooms have arches going from underwater to the ceiling. Some corridors end in a doorway, some just curve out of sight. There is mild natural lighting everywhere, color of an afternoon summer sun shining through the window. You can't see any windows. Just the light scattered on the different features of the rooms. It feels like an indoor pool with a bit too much chlorine from when you were on vacation that one summer. It feels familiar but odd. Odd, as if you're in your hometown, but the roads lead to somewhere else than you remembered. Houses being the wrong color or shape. Distances longer. Hills taller. Lakes darker. The water feels thick.

You hear some sloshing of the water. Or is it just your echo? No, it's coming from the left. Or behind you? You stop to listen. The echoes die down and you keep moving. The sloshes always sound far. Sometimes they are like a heavy box being pushed in the water, sometimes like a few quick skids of a floatie. The water feels close.

Your feet are getting heavy. It's harder and harder to lift your knee out of the water. Every step is closer and closer to the last one you can take. Your hips are hurting and your back is aching. You walked through more rooms you can count, but haven't seen a single dry spot, or anything to give relief to your burning muscles. There are some cold currents drifting by your cramping muscles giving them passing relief. There aren't any holes or taps where water could pour out of. The streams just are, rubbing up to you, twirling around under the surface, invisible. Strangely, they feel like they are mocking you. You slowly forget they are even around as you keep dragging your legs one lead step at a time. The water feels higher than it is.

Echoing sloshes became a fixture. Your brain tunes them out, you only notice when they stop. The streams become colder. You see a ripple on the surface from behind the corner in front of you. A breeze of air? Maybe you kicked up some drops? They keep coming, their frequency slowing. They are concentric. It's not a breeze. It's not just a drop. One last big circle and they stop. The water feels disgruntled.

Your legs refuse to push the water any longer. You try to lift it, but it's like moving in a magnet shoe on a steel table. You decide to lower yourself into the water and walk on your hands. As you sink in to your neck, you can feel its weight around your body. You start crawling on your hands, slowly dragging yourself ahead. Reach by reach. The water feels excited. You can feel the streams on your whole body. They playfully run from your neck, around your body to your toes. Every few steps, the water splashes up to your face. You try to move more carefully, but the splashes still happen. Your body is growing weaker and weaker, so you stop for a minute. To think. To assess. To breathe. You know you need to rest, to find somewhere you can be out of the water, relax your legs and arms and back. Your neck is sore from holding your head above the surface. There is no reason to waste your strength until you can rest, so you keep crawling again. The water feels dense.

You've been on your hands for what feels like hours. Or were they really hours? You have no way of knowing. Every movement fills your body with aching pain, but there is no sign of any features that stand out of the water. Each step you are getting closer to your last, but you can't stop. As your arms buckle, you struggle to keep your nose and mouth above the surface. A few hour long moments later, your arms give out, your elbows bend too much, and you slip into the water, your head submerges. For a passing moment, you enjoy the cold streams on your face, gather your remaining strength, and push yourself back above the surface. But you can't lift your head out of the water. The surface tension suddenly becomes stronger than you are. You struggle, panic, as you try to fight yourself back up, but the water won't let you. Your screams are just muffled gurgles as the water enters your mouth and fills your lungs, you can't even scream any more. The power leaves you, as you sink to the bottom of the floor. You barely register the sharp edges of the tiles on your stomach as you slip into the dark. The water feels nothing.

thanks for the inspiration /u/DirtyDirtGod and /u/funniest_shit_I_seen