One.

You jump (or are pushed, how would you know the difference?) and hit the water. You plunge so deep you're not sure which way is up, which way is back home. You scream because there's nothing else to do. You scream and start to forget, and as the bubbles float away you think, 'if I catch them, will I remember again?' So you follow them. And in a way you were right; you surface.

Beadlet (Actinia equina)

Small and malleable, Weathering the warmth, waiting for the storm, Blooming once drowned.

↳ Roses and peonies by Vincent van Gogh, 1886-06

Small and dense, a knot works its way upwards. Slowly, coaxed by desperation it unfurls; ever-consuming.

Roots penetrate the foundations, Syphoning off what little is left of you, stunting growth.

An old Brightonian, 1881, you left for the shores of many; You took your music with you. O’ Nightingale, what did you hear?