Paul floated down a mountain stream and through an ancient river until he stood on the water in a large bay.  Paul could feel the waves rock violently and crash powerfully under him.  He looked out at a jagged shoreline masterfully carved by the persistent tides.  He squinted and tried to see a small cabin on the shore better, when an icy blast of wind pulled him away.  The cold air wrapped around him like large frozen fingers, and pulled him up past the clouds towards a white glow.

Paul blinked and smacked his cracked lips.  He hadn’t slept well since the coach found him on the bottom of the school’s pool.  That dream came back every time he closed his eyes now.  He rubbed his eyes and looked out the car window at another gas station.

Frank, Paul’s guardian, and he had been driving for two weeks to escape the attention from Paul’s near drowning.  He had been under water more than ten minutes, and yet lived.  News spread quickly.  Headlines about the boy who can breathe underwater, news casts detailing the miracle at Madison High School, and soon the entire city knew what had happened.  Paul never had many friends, but didn’t seem to have any lack of attention after that.  He’d always worked hard to keep to himself, so all the new notice made him nervous.  He learned to fake a smile and chuckle when people called him names like merman, fishboy, or just freak.  The worst for him was a group of religious zealots who exalted him as a “miracle.”  Paul didn’t feel special enough to be saved by a miracle.

Paul and Frank had moved to seven different towns in the last five years.  Normally that frustrated him, since he took so long to make friends, but a few months after the “miracle” when Frank told him they were moving again, Paul didn’t argue.