By J. F. Salocin 

A blue infinity. 

I float there, weightless, lunar strings connected at my back, the man in the moon is my puppeteer, pushing and pulling the waves, making me dance and sway without control. The only true power I have in this void is to stay afloat, tongue tasting the nectar we call oxygen, my pale-raisined feet treading back and forth, forward and back, through paralyzing cramps and muscular aches. A consistent pattern to keep my lungs satiated and full, similar to a wind-up monkey clapping cymbals; my existence is singular, simple, universal in the sea. 

“Please, God, send someone to find me. It can be a drunken sailor, a handsy first-mate, a disgraced navy general who deserted his men, even a damn pirate! Anyone! Everyone!” I mutter. The dress I wear is torn at the skirt and the pastel-yellow material is stained with a diluted red. It is blood, not my own, but of the captain, who, by now, is many meters below me, sinking, his skin flakes being nibbled on by fishes. His bones and fat would make a feast for the crabs and lampreys, it is only a matter of time until he reaches the grey sandy bottom and begins to decompose like a proper corpse. 

Above me is another ocean, a clear, cloudless sky brightened by an orange sun. Reflections shimmer on the water’s surface, blinding the eye to what lies beneath. 

I can still see the boat’s sail, the white canvas and the pole it’s connected to. It bobs into and out of view as the currents move and slosh around. 

I reach for it and wait for a rescue I know will never come…

J. F. Salocin is an 18 year old writer and newly graduated high school student. He will be attending Middlebury College to pursue a degree in Creative Writing. He lives in Frederick MD, where many of his ideas lurk, swimming in the Chesapeake Bay.

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