At any other time Billy would have shied away. He was a broken boy since the day he had lost his leg; but on this occasion he felt a flush of bravery. Billy wanted to see more. He rolled across the swamp of blood and peered behind the sink towards the bath. It was full. The water was twinkling under the bathroom light. The ripples hypnotised Billy. He moved closer. Under the surface of the warm, tranquil water, Billy could see thousands of gold coins. He could not see the bottom of the tub, it seemed to go on for miles. He focused his eyes to try to see the chipped porcelain at the base of the bath, but it was not there. Just thousands of sparkling coins floating through the undercurrents.
Billy had not bathed since that warm Autumn day of the lorry attack. He never looked at the stump where his leg used to be. He would clean and dress it only occasionally and his mother would get upset whenever he said that he didn't care if it rotted away; slowly eating at the rest of his body so that he no longer existed. He felt no better than the dust on his bedside table. Dirty and useless. But at this eerie moment, Billy had the urge to dive into the inviting bath water. He began to rip his clothes off, not caring that they teared and ripped. He pulled his fragile frame from his throne and dragged himself onto the side of the tub. He could feel the warmth of the water massage his dry skin. He let go of the side and slowly fell in backwards. But he did not feel afraid. The water welcomed him in; the coins were still shining as he fell deeper. He kept falling. The weightlessness seemed to take all of the pain away; Billy felt alive again.