ripples of water lethargically caress the shoreline of my
consciousness. as they recede in the awkward ebb and flow rhythm,
infantile body parts and chunks of wreckage are drawn down into the
soggy brown sand, half-formed impressions, abandoned dreams, impulses
and ideas, victims to the whim and unpredictable tides of my mind's
ocean. underneath the once foamy surface, now almost still in this
recession of mental activity, the black depths greedily grasp the empty
rotting hulls of a thousand nightmares. luminescent coral spreads across
these shipwrecked giants like cancer, softening the edges of the utter
blackness within the empty portholes. the blackness seems infinite,
staring blankly into the abyss like dead eyes never mercifully closed by
the hands of the coroner. these corpses never made it onto the gurney.
they lie where they were left. abandoned shells, empty vessels, on the
ocean floor.
reluctantly i complete my preparations.
double check the heavy gear now harnessed to my aching back, reminding
myself of the small mercies of buoyancy that will reduce the load of my
life-preserving equipment as soon as i cross over into the other side,
the cold black emptiness of the sea. the air pumped through hoses into
my mask tastes like rubber and aluminum, like the last drop from a flat
can of soda. i wince as i stand, the buckles and straps cutting into my
skin. with one last glance at the stars, i turn my back, relax my knees,
and fall.
the impact against the unforgiving surface is
like a reverse slap in the face, at once revitalizing my senses and
assaulting them with frigid temperatures and crushing pressure. after a
moment of readjusting to this new and hostile environment i kick my legs
and angle my body downwards, beginning my descent. at first all is
blackness, then the faintest of outlines manifests in the unfathomable
distance, the first hints of the glowing reef, captor and curator of my
failures. the rectangular patch of plastic which serves as my window
into this otherworld actually begins to form frost around its rounded
edges as i plow deeper into the enclosing embrace of this sub-aquatic
cemetery. my glowing guide grows brighter with each writhing stroke i
take. the water i pass through now is populated with miscellaneous
flotsam and jetsam that scatters around and behind in my passing wake.
the deeper i go, the larger the floating pieces become, some of them
faintly shimmering with their own cancerous passengers. i feel the tug
of a an underwater current as i pass over the opening of the yawning
chasm which is home to my destination. it pulls me closer, welcoming,
seducing, sinisterly, lovingly, like a murderer welcoming his prey into
the theater of demise.
i straighten my body, joints and
muscles rigid with the cold of the deep, and let the current draw me in.
i recognize the forms of these captive giants, aglow with the wrapped
appendages of their coral dungeon, this final resting place of hopeless
hopes. the decaying spars and masts are part of this landscape now, as
at peace here as if they themselves grew from out of the walls of this
deep trench. each shadow is as vivid in my memory as they are now before
me. this makeshift mausoleum is a part of my mentality, a permanent
occupant of my mind. as i drop nearer and nearer to the wreck beneath
me, the gauges that populate the rigging across my chest reach their
redlines, warning me of the pressure under which i sink. finally my feet
feel the uneven surface of a derelict deck. i rest my aching limbs for a
moment, and then remove from a pouch a sample bag and small wide-bladed
knife. this isn't recreation. this is a necessary task, a duty, one
that i perform with nauseating regularity. like a sleepwalker, i slowly
approach the nearest branch of coral. it radiates with a sickening hue,
casting the already morbid scene around it under the pale green tint of
poison and decay. as i reach out my knife it seems to pulse with a
brighter light in anticipation of the desecration i am about to perform.
the
following moments pass like the frames of a horror film, one that's
been watched so many times as to assimilate itself into memory. were my
eyes squeezed shut and hid behind my hands i would still see what passed
before them under the murky glow. the wavering dead-looking sea grass.
the glint of the knife's reflective blade. the miniature bubbles that
rise from the breaking of the coral, like blood spewing from a fresh
wound. and as the finger of reef that i cut floats serenely into the
clear plastic bag i hold ready, out of reflex, my eyes actually do
squeeze closed. a piercing shriek, like that of a woman being stabbed by
a rapist, vibrates through the water around me. it's volume is
deafening, it pummels my eardrums and sends involuntary spasms through
my nerves. it seems to come from everywhere and nowhere, from the black
dead abyss of the wrecked hulls or from the massive glowing reef itself,
or from some other source beyond any discernible distance, i cannot
tell. it surrounds me, seems to reach out from the depths and choke me,
as if in judgement for what i have done. with sample clutched between
knuckles that are probably white beneath the gloves, i kick my legs are
hard and fast as i can to escape from the horrible aural onslaught.
heedless of any sense of direction i simply flee from the radioactive
glow of the graveyard.
even as i break the surface of the
deceptively placid waters under the night sky, the shrieking continues
to echo in my ears. too terrible to endure, but also too awful for my
memory to let it pass. i climb back aboard my drifting vessel and
hastily undo the buckles and straps that tether me to my sources of
survival. as they fall clattering to the deck of the ship, i also turn
and drop, face up to the cloudless night sky. a black abyss above me and
below me. i lay on the razor's edge that separates infinity from
infinity, gasping lungfuls of the chilly midnight air. my stomach
tightens from the stress, and as quickly as i can i pull myself to my
knees and crawl to the edge of my craft, retching. a thick tar-like
substance splatters in droplets, staining the deck and casting new sets
of ripples across the surface of the deep. it leaves an aftertaste like
blood and bile. for a few minutes, i pathetically grip the rails at
deck's edge and hang my face over the side of the boat, coughing and
sputtering, my sides clenching, until the fit passes and leaves me empty
and exhausted.
below decks, behind a sealed bulkhead, is a
chamber that looks not unlike a chemist's lab. mortar and pestle sit on
a table covered with glass tubes, burners, beakers, stands, other
instruments and effects unrecognizable to the untrained eye. it is here
that i bring my prize. now above the surface and under the harsh
fluorescent lights that flicker and buzz overhead, it has lost its
iridescent sheen and now has a translucent paleness, like the partly
developed bones of some stillborn creature. i grind it to a fine powder
and the task of isolating the compound i require from it begins.
more
fits of coughing and spitting black globs of infection interrupt my
work at increasing intervals. the process is a delicate and
time-consuming one, but time is something that becomes a more precious
commodity to someone of my condition than diamonds or oil. my pale
sickly hands show a latticework of dark purple veins as they flash under
the light, deftly performing this scientific exercise with the
precision and speed of memorized movement. soon the process is complete
and i hold the result inside a small syringe. so much trouble for such a
small yield...
like a junkie, i pull the emptied needle
from the crux of my arm. i absently replace it with a small bandage as
the exhaustion i've held at bay until now washes over my aching body.
with protest from every limb, i rise to my feet and shuffle,
zombie-like, out of the lab and into a small cabin where a hard bunk
welcomes me like the warm arms of a lover long missed. without even
cutting the harsh overhead lights i quickly succumb to sleep...
