The boy tread water easily, kicking his legs and and batting his arms through the water, keeping himself afloat.
He had a smile on his face, like one would expect from a boy his age. He kept treading water, not really moving but staying above the surface.
Though, after some time, the ease of movement he had previously displayed began to decrease. He was starting to struggle.
This happened from time to time, but he always managed to get to the edge of the pool and rest.
This time was different. Greatly different. The boyish placidity that had glazed his eyes quickly faded away.
He realized, even has he swam forward, he couldn't seem to make out the edge of the pool. There was just more water, there was just more water as deep or deeper.
He started to thrash, started to scream, started to swallow the water around him. Why wasn't anyone helping him? He was drowning and no one was helping him. There was no one to help him.
Everyone else was drowning, too, in their own pool. He could hear their screams, and they could hear his. The only thing that cut through the screams of others were his own.
His own screams were the only thing that could penetrate the wall of fear and struggle of others. No one could help him. No one could help them.
After what seemed like years, like decades, he drowned.