I will die drowning; it has always been known. This was my first vision, long before I knew it for what it was, and I’ve had it so many times now that I know each instant by heart. Where most visions are ephemeral things, shifting and changing in different lights and at different angles, this one is always so solid that it leaves its bruises on my mind and soul long after it ends.

The water will be cold against my skin. It will rush around me like a storm, tearing my hair in different directions until it clouds my vision. I won’t be able to see a thing. I will want to kick up to the surface, to breathe the air I know is only a few meters away, but I will stay frozen and sink lower and lower in my whirlpool until my feet finally touch soft sand. My eyes will be closed, and everything around me will be darkness.

My lungs will burn, burn, burn until I fear they are going to burst. The surface will be so close, I could reach it if I just kick up . . . but I won’t. I won’t want to.

In a week or a year or a decade, I will die drowning. When I do, it will be a choice.