This task was to match the atmosphere of a setting with a pre-assigned work, which was The Swimmer by John Cheever, which you can read here. We were to pick any moment of the story and invent a new pool that would match the ones before and after it. I added a pool at the very end of the story.
I encourage you to read the original short story first.
(...)
He shouted, pounded on the doors, tried to force it with his shoulder, and then, looking at the windows, saw that the place was empty.
He stood on his driveway for a while that seemed to pass beside him, and he felt detached from it. Looking at the house he’d known for years and seeing it so dilapidated weighed down on his heart and he felt his mind sink with it. He was still standing in his trunks, barefoot on the fine gravel, with wet leaves stuck to his feet and dirt reaching up to his knees. In that moment, he imagined the whole scene: a pitiful, frail man, ridiculously underdressed, stuck on the doorstep of his house that slowly slipped into ruin the same way as him. It was such a far cry from what he’d imagined as he set out on his voyage that it almost pained him physically. A cold gust of wind made him shiver violently.
Not knowing what to do with himself, he went around the house into the garden at the back. He wasn’t surprised to see it overgrown and empty, but the sight was so alien that it startled him anyway. The trees were bare and the grass dark, already withered. It got tangled in his toes as he dragged his feet wearily, tugging painfully and cutting the skin when pulled too hard. He tripped and fell, his head narrowly missing the cracking concrete of the pool’s edge. He looked up and would laugh, if he had the strength - there was water in the pool, murky and covered in dead leaves. He could conclude his expedition and it exhilarated him enough to shake off a bit of the fatigue in his limbs. Not thinking much more about what he was doing, he dragged himself forward and slipped into the frigid water.
When it closed above his head and the sounds of wind and distant traffic disappeared, he felt tranquil. He sluggishly paddled forward, not really hoping to reach the other end. He only wanted the water from his own pool to wash away the dirt that accumulated on his skin throughout his journey, like it would also clear all the bad news about himself that he heard. Maybe, if he got to the far edge, he would emerge and everything would return to normal.
I encourage you to read the original short story first.
(...)
He shouted, pounded on the doors, tried to force it with his shoulder, and then, looking at the windows, saw that the place was empty.
He stood on his driveway for a while that seemed to pass beside him, and he felt detached from it. Looking at the house he’d known for years and seeing it so dilapidated weighed down on his heart and he felt his mind sink with it. He was still standing in his trunks, barefoot on the fine gravel, with wet leaves stuck to his feet and dirt reaching up to his knees. In that moment, he imagined the whole scene: a pitiful, frail man, ridiculously underdressed, stuck on the doorstep of his house that slowly slipped into ruin the same way as him. It was such a far cry from what he’d imagined as he set out on his voyage that it almost pained him physically. A cold gust of wind made him shiver violently.
Not knowing what to do with himself, he went around the house into the garden at the back. He wasn’t surprised to see it overgrown and empty, but the sight was so alien that it startled him anyway. The trees were bare and the grass dark, already withered. It got tangled in his toes as he dragged his feet wearily, tugging painfully and cutting the skin when pulled too hard. He tripped and fell, his head narrowly missing the cracking concrete of the pool’s edge. He looked up and would laugh, if he had the strength - there was water in the pool, murky and covered in dead leaves. He could conclude his expedition and it exhilarated him enough to shake off a bit of the fatigue in his limbs. Not thinking much more about what he was doing, he dragged himself forward and slipped into the frigid water.
When it closed above his head and the sounds of wind and distant traffic disappeared, he felt tranquil. He sluggishly paddled forward, not really hoping to reach the other end. He only wanted the water from his own pool to wash away the dirt that accumulated on his skin throughout his journey, like it would also clear all the bad news about himself that he heard. Maybe, if he got to the far edge, he would emerge and everything would return to normal.
