iii.

You've always loved the Ocean,
source of life and death alike.
The way the rising Sun
casts a long wavering reflection
and colors the clouds pink and gold.
The way He glitters on the water,
hurting your eyes like always
and bringing desperately needed warmth.

For a time, it's nice
until He rises high in the sky and
begins to beat down upon you.
Until your skin starts to itch with heat
all the worse with splashes of salt.
Thirst claws at you, dries your tongue,
your stomach beginning to complain
and your head pounding like footsteps
stomping across a deck.
The endless water all around you is tempting,
but you know it will only kill you faster.

Deep, deep below
the Thing waits
out of reach of the light.
You know It's there the same
way you know where your hand is,
even though it's cramped and tingling
and It sounds faint.
-
Time passes and somehow
it's worse
to be able to see
nothing but water
instead of black.
-
In the distance, you see a ship
or you think you do.
The sails billow with wind you hadn't noticed
and you can pick out pinprick figures
scrambling across the deck.
You try to yell for help,
try waving your stiff hands,
but
they don't see you
they don't hear you.
You are only one tiny soul
adrift in a vast unforgiving universe
And you don't exist.
-
What seems like hours go by
but when you check
the Sun has hardly moved at all.
Slowly
agonizingly
everything gets worse.
You're dying so many ways at once,
only living thanks to the grace of
a flimsy plank,
growing sicker every minute.

Squandering sweat beads on your forehead
and eventually stops.
Your lips chap and bleed,
the taste copper on your tongue.
Your salt-kissed hair drapes over your face
but can't shield your skin
from the baking rays.
Despite it you feel cold,
the day restoring some of the body heat
the night took, but not all,
the Ocean stealing back what was gained
little by little.
-
It takes you some time to realize
that maybe there shouldn't be whispering in your ear.
That you shouldn't be seeing
islands and ships and whale tails
that vanish when you look directly at them.
That the whiff of mother's stew you catch
that makes your stomach growl
isn't real
and your father isn't there talking to you
telling you it'll be alright
asking you to take his hand.
You continue to grow weaker
praying for just a drop of safe water.
-
Maybe you already died
and this is simply your own personal hell.
Maybe you'll be floating forever
alone but for a hungry nightmarish creature
and the scattered birds wheeling far overhead,
all waiting for your death.
You don't know what you did to deserve this
The same fate as your father
Or so you've always supposed.
You'll never know what happened to him.
There's a lot you'll never know.
-
You can't tell what's real anymore,
if you're wasting your energy
begging wraiths to save you.
If the Thing you saw last night,
that you instinctively know circles below you,
is real.
It must be a dream, a hallucination,
It must be,
a dying vision to make sense of your fear
a strange source of comfort;
if It's real, then you're not alone.

You think about home.
You think about what your mother
will do without you,
if she will be able to withstand
another loss, another theft committed by the Ocean.
You think about your life,
about your dreams, hopes, desires,
about what you will do when there's
solid Land beneath you again.
Eventually you run out of things to think about
and you think about nothing at all.
-
Consciousness lapses
and it's almost a relief to
blink awake
and see that the Sun has moved.
-
Suddenly, there is water
engulfing you
a wave tears the plank from your hands
Your body aches as you force it to move
Trying not to let panic cloud you
Struggling to stay above the surface
You know how to swim,
have swum almost before you could walk
your body barely responds
terrifyingly drained

Despite your efforts
you choke
air not found often enough
And you think
this is it
but you're not ready
there is still
daylight left
light left
for someone
anyone
to spot
you

Something
brushes against you
wood
the plank
you grasp it
throw everything in you
into digging your sluggish fingers in,
wrapping your arms around it
ignoring the fresh splinters in your skin

You gasp in muggy air
Coughing out water
Pain spiking in your throat and lungs
Knowing there was no way
you didn't accidentally swallow some
You catch a glimpse of
something black as night nearby
A tentacle slithering back
into the water

"Thank you..." you say hoarsely,
your voice all but gone by now.
More adrenaline spikes through you
when you feel teeth
prickling and careful around your bare ankle
No time for shoes
when water is filling your cabin
and sweeping you away.

You won't last much longer, Little One.
You have a choice to make.

It tells you, voice so much clearer
than all the clamoring ones in your head.
It holds for a moment more,
substantial and there
before the powerful tentacle slips away,
a Thing beyond your imagination,
an ancient creature,
a spirit,
a god.
All at once and
none at all
It
Is

The clarity of your thoughts
goes with It but you understand.
The choice is when to die and how.
You can keep holding onto hope
And die slowly, alone,
Growing weaker and weaker until
hypothermia extinguishes you,
exhaustion drowns you,
consciousness giving out
and knowing nothing more.
Or let go,
cut your suffering mercifully short
knowing It is with you,
but saying goodbye to everything
you know and love
saying goodbye to yourself.
-
You wonder if there's a point
to clinging to life.
Until the day and your strength runs out,
there's a chance
but it's so small
and the seas are vast and empty.
Below there is It,
and there is life.
Fish and dolphins,
reefs, sandy beds,
and so much more that you've never seen
and can never experience.
Suddenly you realize
that you barely know It at all.
You know the surface
but below
is a near infinity,
forbidden to humanity.

The realization makes you want to cry
but the tears don't come,
too dehydrated.
You've always loved the Ocean,
and you wish you could know It,
but it can never be.
For a moment, you hate It
for doing this to you
for keeping Its secrets
for Its blind cruelty.
No, not hate,
it's despair
and fear,
it's grief
and indescribable longing
and a broken heart.

The Thing stirs
a touch in your consciousness.
Without the physical proximity,
you can't understand It,
the fog in your mind too much
to make much sense of Its song.
You wonder if It will simply take you
the next time you lose your grip
or if It will save you again
and continue waiting
for your waterlogged corpse to
sink down into Its expectant throat.
You wonder if you should have
let It deliver Its mercy
let It deliver you to your rest.
-
It doesn't seem to matter anymore.
Nothing does.
The waves bob you up and down
and soon,
thought fades away once more,
into endless thirst,
rolling nausea,
migraine, faintness,
stabs of hunger,
weak, burning,
freezing,
alone

doomed

just as It said.
-
The Sun begins to set,
and you turn your bleary eyes
towards the majestic sight,
knowing it'll be the last
you'll ever see.
The light dips lower and lower
on the shimmering horizon,
taking your hope with
the changing vanishing colors.

You don't have your ocarina;
your fingers lost their dexterity long ago.
You're too weak to even hum
but the songs run haltingly through your mind,
words patchy and stripped away
but melodies still strong.
In your deepening delirium,
you could swear that someone is singing with you.