Photo Source: Unsplash The mess hall bell is ringing, ringing, ringing, and I am sprinting, skidding over the gravel path and down the hill. Children stand shivering in their bathing suits, still dripping wet, hair slicked down and dark like the surface of the swimming hole. Each one clutches a blue plastic tag, pulled off the bulletin board at the edge of the water. I stare at the board; one blue tag remains, fluttering on its hook in the wind. The bell continues...