Buoyant on the flow,
listening to the irrational chatter
of the crisp, cascading water.

I felt a surge,
no, a jolt of words in my head:
"Swim, for it will be your salvation."

My arms tensed and paddled
against the current,
while I eyed the dead fishes.

Turns out, that they were the noise,
for they hate others who go against
their chosen, cliché path.

"I was one of them,"
my words, my voice returned.
"I am not a dead fish," I said, paddling.