A hot December sun beats down on the boy’s bare back. The ripples in the pool from when he had been swimming have died down and the water reflects the endless, clear blue sky above his sandy head. Vivid flashes of greens and reds are blurred in the thrill of the chase as an excited Scottish terrier yaps at the boy’s ankles as he runs around the edge of the pool with a new, crisp tennis ball in hand.

***

There is not a breath of wind, much to the dismay of the festively-dressed adults around the table to relieve them of the fierce African heat. Even the flies seem unusually languid and flap haphazardly from one person to the next. A red, rotund aunt, squeezing an empty, fragile wine glass in her fist, squeals with laughter as the husband tries – in vain - to open another bottle of white wine. His sweaty palms make the smooth surface of the bottle slippery and difficult to grasp...

***

The light fragments in the droplets of water as the boy’s back hit’s the surface. His eyes close instinctively and his head is submerged. The adults’ laughter is muffled and the dog seems far away as it continues to yap at the ball bobbing on the surface.

***

The bottle crashes.

Shards of green glass slice through the light and the white wine bleeds a diluted red. Blood trickles from sweaty, distracted hands. A red, rotund woman screams in shock as her sister rushes for a small bag with a large, red cross.

***

The boy opens his eyes to see a frenzy of white bubbles swarming around him as he hits the bottom. The water is cold on his skin but something warm and thick slowly spreads from his head through the water.

A single, painful breath.

***

The sister uses a practised gentle hand as she wraps the wound in a white cloth. Another bottle of wine is brought out and the momentous occasion is not spoilt over spilt blood. Soon everyone is at the table again drinking and laughing and living. All that remains of the accident now is the memory of the bottle slipping through the husband’s sweaty fingers and the shattering sound of the glass hitting the floor.

***

The ripples in the pool have died down and a single bubble trickles up to break the surface, but the sound is drowned out by laughter echoing from inside the house. The boy’s once sandy hair is dark like mud and he stares up at the sky just above the surface with endless, clear blue eyes.