I'm desperately afraid of the water.  Not all water, everywhere—I'm alright with rain, showers, hot baths (or cold baths, in certain circumstances), hot tubs and swimming pools.  When I was growing up in West Virginia, we went swimming in the shallow pools that follow after rapids.  And that was okay, because I felt familiar with the river.  I knew those nips I felt around my feet were goldfish someone dumped out, and not the scratching fingertips of something sinister.

 

It's not the water I'm afraid of, really, it's what might be in the water.  Or even, what the water might do to me if I allow enough of it to gather in one place. Oceans make waves and riptides.  Even lakes can get aggressive on a windy day.  Water is a force of nature, and not to be trusted.  Nature doesn't think of our best interests. 

 

Besides, I'm fairly certain that the waters of the world are full of zombies.  Maybe zombies are real or maybe my mother shouldn't have let me watch Night of the Living Dead when I was eight.  Either way, I totally believe in them.  

 

Logically, of course, you'd say that zombies don't exist because you never see them.  I mean, if zombies were milling around you'd certainly hear about it, and probably even see it, because I understand they reproduce quite quickly.  If zombies existed, they'd no doubt occupy quite a lot of the popular consciousness.  

 

Logically, I can accept that zombies might exist, but if they do they're probably occupying the bottoms of lakes, ponds and seas around the world.  That explains why you never see them.  They're milling around deep under water, little more than soggy skeletons with glowing eyes, subsisting on fish and the occasional lonely swimmer. 

 

You'd never know.  The water is so murky and so deep.  How many drowned bodies never resurface?  Could a skeleton actually swim?  What exactly makes a zombie water-resistant?

 

Until I have the answers to these questions, maybe it's best if I stick with the pool.  I can see to the bottom of that.