SHORT STORY
FAR FROM DERELICT
LAUREN SHARP
It might be a little worn at the edges, like an old favourite t-shirt, but this pool is far from derelict. To me it feels like a living, breathing place. The car park is full this afternoon, of dogwalkers using the park before the sun makes its early descent in the sky. I enter the building and am greeted with the smell of chlorine, the echo of laughter on wet tiles from the changing rooms. I hope I don’t bump into anyone I know from school in the water, the prospect of another week tomorrow is looming and for now I don’t want to be reminded of it. The doors to the changing cubicles are faded wood, marked with the occasional initialled graffiti. My habits always take me to the same cubicle and I’m sure I know these marks by heart.