A short story about the sea
|Savage! Throwing their feeble frames at the jagged rocks like mars, in tremulous rage, throwing himself at war and worshipping at death's door. The coarse waves of cynical, translucent matter are bent by gale and malevolent pathos to attack that which cannot be moved.|
March on! Is the cry. No man, so put off by dejection and failure should endure the powerless fraught child's feelings of anguish.
In the moment, the soldiers are betrayed by time. What ground can be achieved but within an instant? A rock, a crumb of chastising agony- victory could be celebrated and drowned. Languid rotation about a semi-conscious axis, hanging taught upside down and bound from the mast. As the pebbles of time begin to unwind they cascade down that old cliff, getting more ancient by the century. The seeds of victory are planted; the nature that breaks rocks is sought and found ferocious to the great hordes of land that is born of the sea.
All things must regress back into the dark depths.
Though, that is not the end. Some may wish to stay buoyant, but not for long. In the end, all things must have their delicate heads violently thrust beneath the icy water. There it is black. Struggle is natural and demonstrates a rock's character. Struggle on against the uncaged psychotic might of the wind's will and the water's want. Its hand wrapped around your eyes and its fingers caressing the delicate nature of your naively merciful skin.
Thank God, this is comfort.
As the last air bubble struggles against the icy agony and your last words and child-like cries float to attack the world you knew, tainted coal fuelled fear washes over.
Fear and anguish are part of your blood now. You can feel it, being pumped around your body with every contrived heartbeat. The heart's beat is irregular; still strong. Weaker though with every inch that is-
Tired, faint echoes of time are aware. They swim up to your hard features to crumb away at the hard parts of yourself that, through neglect, you forgot you had.
Fear fades as youthful currents lead you on and downward ceases to become a direction. Hard features become soft and the trauma seems to be left far on top and far away. The darkness ceases to be the unknown and is now an old friend, whispering melodically.
The secrets of nothing is all you ever had.
We descend together.