Alone Now

merman.pngThe sinking ship is deserting itself of rats, rats, rats

who go swim, swim, swim

to the shore, to the shore, to the shore.

My writer’s block stop me from writing more on that thought

unless you count falling off a rock face into the sea and inhaling water as carrying on.

From wave peak to wave peak there is something underneath but everybody has explanations. I want to be different. I need to and want to not explain but leave it for you reader to fill in the gaps. Why? Because a part or parts do not exist how I describe them to you. Instead, of a rock in the water doing nothing I am standing naked in the sea awaiting my destiny.

The next thing that crashes into me might be a boat or a large turtle.

Humour! Laughter! Indifference. Page turned. I the artist have no say in what frame of mind you reader or readers are in. So how can I write for you? I write for me. So why am I hung up? Hung up on waves that crash into my body, lapping there. Fishes find a home between my legs and buttocks. But this is not the narrative sea I wish my writing to belong. Perhaps I see a ship in the distance and have the right to explain my existence here alone in the sea. I want to be a mermaid I might say. I want to find treasure in the deep – a friend maybe. A soul mate. Artistic talent is like my tail, happy. We could go off and become a family under the sea and have lots of little mermaids. I think the term is merman for the male of the species, but I like the thought of having breasts so a mix of the two might be best. I could find us an underwater cave and a volcanic vent could light it up. and under the waves we could meet our destiny. It’s funny how the waves sound from down here. We have a dolphin school as our pets and we can converse in clicks and whistles. But this is a mere description. Where is the feeling? I hate the water. It’s deep and salty and cold. Harsh sea. Blistering heat. Mermaids in the desert. living around an oasis competing with mudskippers for moisture. Drying out in the heat. Destiny. So much for my family. Travel is important. As a mermaid, I have an alien’s passport. The oceans do not have a passport office so I slap my tail down at immigration and hope it’s enough. See? An Explanation is for boys and war annuals.

I am standing thigh deep in the ocean. And I can see for miles to the horizon and I feel afraid of a big wave. I have a fear of drowning. I attach armbands to myself and feel safer in the sea. I feel exposed and the wind is shrill as a crones voice over a bubbling cauldron. Peaceful dunes lie miles away. I search for something to latch onto but there is nothing except the sky and the sea and the ever-rippling sea around my naked legs.

The sea feels like lying in a wet bed and the  bottom is the sodden mattress. and the spiky things children’s toys but I can be sure for I am afraid of putting my head under the green surface. I wiggle my toes and sink further into the cold mud. I shiver for me and for all and then for me and  a tear forces its way out of my eye. I don’t want to die. Not here like this. I could just fall backwards and then inhale and let my survival instincts take over but, for now, i want to remain still.  It’s warm if I believe it is.

I search my mind for memories but find none only the wind blowing and the light fading. The sunset is coldly beautiful and I for one appreciate it for a few moments until I want a coffee or a latte or anything normal, please. I say a quick prayer and wonder if anybody will ever know I existed here on earth. Birds cry near the horizon and all this noise scares me suddenly I am aware of the whispering of the sea and the impersonal mass that I am sure will be as mortuary to me. a cold grave. one with little sea creatures living up my nose and behind my eyes.

I shudder and am reminded of the muscles in my arms and legs and shoulders and let out a sob that escapes me then another then another until I am racked by warm tears. I hug myself with my arms and throw them up to the sky asking why. Why choose me? Why now? Why like this? I punch the surface and my arms follow through almost knocking me off balance. I regain my footing and plant my legs wide apart and shout of my innocence and utter murdeerous intent on those whoever they are who would torment me until I am exhausted.

I am suddenly aware that I am in a smooth patch of water that is triangle shaped with me at the thin end of the triangle. I think it could be an optical illusion. I think it doesn’t matter anyway. then a fishes head break the surface ten feet away, then another and another. they bob up and down their mouths opening and closing silently. then they are gone and I feel something big swim past my wooden legs brushing off the paintwork.

I hear a voice in my head that says the words ‘Alone now,’. Comprehension of my position is suddenly felt and I convulse and begin to shiver.

To Be continued


Published by Andrew Mark Watkins

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