Year 5 writing: The empty swimming pool

The pool was empty, but the water was not still. Small waves touched the blue tiles. Wet footprints crossed the floor towards the changing rooms. No one was speaking now.

A light buzzed above the deep end. From somewhere behind the wall came the sound of a pump. The benches stood in a straight line, with one forgotten swimming cap lying beneath the nearest seat.

The water kept moving after the last swimmer had gone. Ripples broke the straight reflection of the roof beams, then smoothed it again. Along the edge, a trail of wet footprints grew fainter as the tiles dried.

Without voices, the room sounded larger. The pump hummed steadily, and a single drop fell from the diving board with a sharp tap. A red swimming cap lay under a bench, turned inside out.

At the far end, the lights reflected in pale squares. Nothing hurried here now. Even the water seemed to be settling into the quiet, one small wave at a time.

The water kept moving after the last swimmer had gone. Reflections of the roof beams bent and straightened beneath the dim lights. A faint flicker travelled across the ceiling as the ripples reached the tiles.

The room had lost its usual layers of sound. No splashing, no shouted names, no squeak of wet feet. In their place, the pump hummed behind the wall. A drop gathered beneath the diving board, stretched, and fell. Its small tap carried all the way to the doors.

Under a bench lay a red swimming cap. It looked peculiar without its owner, like a bright scrap left in a room that had turned grey. The final footprints were almost dry.

Slowly, the broken reflections joined. The pool held the roof again, beam by beam, as though the building were taking a quiet breath.