The water claws its way up my body, not in a wholly unwelcomed way, more like how lovers would claw at each other after being worlds apart. Creeping up my legs, hugging my hips, wrapping cold hands around my waist, the movement of the water serving as the rhythm at which we danced. Dumping me in a 15-foot hole, clever; yes. But not quite clever enough. The water was well above me, and my hair was lifting up like fiery feathers. I pushed off and relished in the feeling of cool water rushing against my body. Looking up and beginning to treed water, I estimated maybe seven or eight feet. Lets hope the rain continues to fall. I squinted my eyes to watch the rainfall, to watch it tumble down from the sky almost like a transparent rope that I would use to pull myself back into the world. Until a long worn rope really did come down, I wrapped my small hands and gold painted nails around the rope and climbed the rest of the way. I turned to face my rescuer, the gardener’s son. My familiar smirk paints itself on my pale face; I am a very like able psychopath.