‘Ziggy, Ziggy Truegood. Come to me,’ the river sings.

I fight to stay afloat, I gulp for air, but the water drags me down, and sharp claws tear at my skin.

Red bubbles fizz around me. It is blood, my blood.

From the riverbank I hear a cry.

And then darkness.

I wake up with a start, hot and feverish, sheets twisted around me.

It’s been the same dream every night for the past month. And in it, on my twelfth birthday, I drown.