Status: Re-uploaded 20/09/12.
The Sea Breathes
Ebb
We emerge, and sunset has turned the rugged coastline into a sepia photograph.
I clamber coldly out of the water and peel off my suit. Underneath, I am as white and ghastly as a corpse sucked on by the toothless tide. My heart hammers in my throat, beating at my ribs like a flighty bird trapped in a cage.
I relive the final seconds before I surfaced, with my chest carrying me forward, buoyed up by the fear of that swollen heart. My legs struggled to keep up, kicking against the weight of knowledge that clawed me back into the depths.
I shudder. The daylight fades around us, flickering like the last embers in a stove. It is the shattered remains of the sun; no longer warm or comforting. Thin streamers of clouds brew over the horizon, creeping ghost-like across the water. They are the tendrils of a kraken reaper, and where they pass, only shadows are spared.
In the still pools beside me, the sea is tentative. Whenever she twists or trembles, ripples spread out over sheeted water that is dead instead of pristine. Cold as glass, it reflects the least flattering aspects of her appearance, warping them grotesquely.
I am sorry, she stammers.
Although her words are indecipherable, I see it in the watery depths of her eyes, and hear it in her quavering tone. She speaks freely now that the comb has slipped from her hair, and is placed upon the ledge. The barnacles have all closed, and the waves lap blackly at the rocks below her prize, congealing with dusk's chill.
At first, the sea’s speech was garbled. Now, it lilts softly as her fingers leave the comb, and she drifts over to me. Her arm trails lightly over limpets and oysters, tracing the outcroppings as she swims silvery.
Her eyes find me on where the water meets the shore, and she falters.
The sea breathes.
I clamber coldly out of the water and peel off my suit. Underneath, I am as white and ghastly as a corpse sucked on by the toothless tide. My heart hammers in my throat, beating at my ribs like a flighty bird trapped in a cage.
I relive the final seconds before I surfaced, with my chest carrying me forward, buoyed up by the fear of that swollen heart. My legs struggled to keep up, kicking against the weight of knowledge that clawed me back into the depths.
I shudder. The daylight fades around us, flickering like the last embers in a stove. It is the shattered remains of the sun; no longer warm or comforting. Thin streamers of clouds brew over the horizon, creeping ghost-like across the water. They are the tendrils of a kraken reaper, and where they pass, only shadows are spared.
In the still pools beside me, the sea is tentative. Whenever she twists or trembles, ripples spread out over sheeted water that is dead instead of pristine. Cold as glass, it reflects the least flattering aspects of her appearance, warping them grotesquely.
I am sorry, she stammers.
Although her words are indecipherable, I see it in the watery depths of her eyes, and hear it in her quavering tone. She speaks freely now that the comb has slipped from her hair, and is placed upon the ledge. The barnacles have all closed, and the waves lap blackly at the rocks below her prize, congealing with dusk's chill.
At first, the sea’s speech was garbled. Now, it lilts softly as her fingers leave the comb, and she drifts over to me. Her arm trails lightly over limpets and oysters, tracing the outcroppings as she swims silvery.
Her eyes find me on where the water meets the shore, and she falters.
The sea breathes.