A Series of Dreams I Don’t Understand #1:
It took a while before my eyes finally met with what looks like the ocean, if not, then space looks rather blue. Not that I know what space actually looks like, it’s just my innocent guess. Oddly enough, if this was the ocean, how come my eyes can see blue so clearly and profound? How come I can breathe without water flooding my lungs?
I paddle my legs and maneuver my arms to turn myself around, the ocean is… empty. I glanced in every direction, squinting, looking for any sign of fish but every inch of me froze when my eyes fell on the bottom that the ocean didn’t have. It’s an abyss down there. Where am I?
I fear the ocean, I fear what’s in it and every time it’s just a few steps away or only a few layers of wood separate me from it, my heart doesn’t skip a beat, it doesn’t stop; I didn’t feel that here.
From here, I can see streaks of sunlight from the surface so I tread the water to reach it, it was just a few feet above me, but it’s taking me forever to get there. It’s not getting any closer, no, not at all.
So I dive, deeper I swam.
Where did my fear go? I don’t know.
If you explore the ocean long enough to reach the bottom or attempt to reach it without the pressure crushing you, you’ll witness how the ocean transitions from a cerulean to a midnight blue. Through the middle is where the various shades of blue smudge together and with the steady, sharp, noise that accompanies silence, it paints a surreal picture of a gradient that muddles my understanding of how beautiful fear can be.
I stopped for a moment because I’m about to plunge into complete darkness and the beautiful image I painted in my head slowly evaporated. And that’s when I felt it, it was so subtle, you can barely notice it.
I felt movement.
I snapped my head around to know where that ripple in the water came from.
Black with fins like silk, graciously flailing through the water.
I know little about fish, but this looks like a black goldfish with overgrown fins, as if someone threw a sheer fabric on it. It was curious, it was beautiful.
It circled around me and my eyes were fixated on it, I awed over how its fins playfully danced in the water, it didn’t even occur to me why it’s the only fish in the sea.
I watched it circle around me in a definite number of times, which was once, and then I watched it fan away from me. I watched it until it swam far enough to look like a speck of dust. I watched it until it was swallowed by the vast ocean around me. But the moment it disappeared, the eeriness of the water disappeared with it. I didn’t feel like floating in space anymore, it felt like weights were dropped on my chest. I can feel the water. My sight was suddenly clouded and contorted by the water, everything wasn’t a defined blue anymore, it was all a mess of blur and my breathing on its own stopped because I can feel the water overcome it.
Water flooded my nose and I opened my mouth to scream, but water devoured my voice as if it was nothing. I choked and my hands were reaching for nothing, my legs flailing, a pathetic attempt to swim upwards as if it was going to help. My chest burned, the burn was no different from fire kissing your skin, my stomach churned, my muscles tightened, and my head was full to bursting.
Gasping for air, I jolted forward so fast that it shook my head into a painful throb. My dorm was as quiet as it can be but it was filled by excessive panic breaths and I never went back to sleep.
I fear the water even more now.