What was that?

I stand on my feet for a few long seconds, catching my breath. The water is hot and, despite the near-**** experience, quite pleasant. My heart calms down, the adrenaline is washed out, the cold grip of **** lets go of my stomach, and all of a sudden I feel exhausted. I paddle away mindlessly until the water gets shallower and I have to lean back to keep my body submerged.

I lay back on the smooth bottom, trying to figure out exactly what happened that almost cost me my life. The experience felt familiar, somehow, as if I’d gone through it before. Did I fall asleep? No, I was aware in the slumber, in control to an extent, and it didn’t feel like a dream. It was not **** either, I’ve been a year clean and a replase would have finished me off. It was different from a trance too, it felt almost… magic.

Magic. With that thought, I now know what to look for. It takes a bit of concentration, and some real effort to put the pieces back in order, for fragments of the memories to be unearthed. Piecemeal glimpses of moments gone by; a hunt gone bad, knee-deep in blood, pilling debt, and my pockets too light to pay it off. My brothers and sister wounded, the squad at the backfoot, and me at my wit's end. I had to exert myself, push my limits, and suffer the consequences. Now it makes sense. Power never comes without a price.

As the memories come back, so does the pain. There are a few square pieces of gauge stacked on top of each other and adhered to my stomach, even after my swim. I can feel the same on my back, making me believe the wound had to be especially grizzly. Though for specifics, I guess I should ask somebody else.