The boat rocked. Then sank. Rocked. Then sank. The steady rhythm of the ocean putting me to sleep was repetitive.
I can hear her singing. Curious.
It was calming but nerve-wracking. So strange it was to be in the bosom of the ocean, being a child again, rocked to sleep. So strange it was to be sound and calmed by the waves – the wind like my mother’s sweet melodic lullabies. Passing through the atmosphere in the cabin.
I can hear the singing. Stand.
The waves were like a giant – tossing and turning me throughout the black night above the surface of the ocean.
She’s singing, I can hear her. Where is she?
The wind like a Siren – so beautiful and rhythmic...and so, so cold.
I can hear her singing. Curiouser.
Cold, like the love siphoned out a lover’s heart – the desire gone.
I can hear the singing. Walk.
Cold, like the warmth sucked out of a flame.
The flame of a ginger boy who – once upon a long, long time ago – had a love. A love with long, dark hair. Long and coarse and black. So rough was her hair – the beautiful locks thick, shimmery, and stale. Filled with algae and coral blossoms and salt crystals. Her eyes like a violet you’ve never seen, the vibrance and radiance only belonging to the sea. She had teal microbic scales in place of flesh – running from her neck, over her breast, and down her torso into a tail of gold scaly plates.
She’s singing, I can hear her. Where am i going?
She was the death of him, he had no idea what would happen when he went to the singing in the water. And she loved him so, that when he went to his death in the water – to her melody – she asked the ocean to take her as well. And they became golden seafoam upon the crest of the waves, their love spreading through the currents of the saltwater.
I can hear her singing. Stairs.
They were of the oceans’ keep now, a peaceful sleep that kept their love safe.
I can hear the singing. Outside.
His hair is the bursting coral – the fiery orange creating the most beautiful scenery among the sea cucumbers and the blowfish.
She’s singing, I can hear it. Cold. Wet. Rain.
Her scales the turquoise of the Caribbean – clear and calm and solemn.
I wonder where my love will go?, I wonder as I climb onto the railing on the side of the vessel.
I can hear her singing. Jump.