Floating in a 1000 foot swell

Cristina Archer
Aug 25, 2017 · 5 min read
My monarch may kill me one day.

Do you ever have a moment where you are not sure how you got stuck in the predicament in which you currently find yourself, but there you are, stuck facing your own mortality head-on?

That thought goes through my head over and over as I bob around without any mooring. The water’s swell is carrying me on a roller coaster up and down. Sometimes I can see the distant horizon, most of the time I cannot. There are moving mountains surrounding me, swaying as the wind blows. The water is as helpless as I am to the vagaries of the elements. I am floating and utterly exposed.

All I wanted was to gather a few droplets, dip my toes into its coolness, collect what little I could carry, and then fan the air to create a stream to cool from my sweating skin. I wanted to unburden a heat consuming me. Foraging for water was second nature. You would think I would have figured out how to get it right. I have done this a million times over. I do not dwell on my past efforts. They do not exist in the here and now.

I misjudged what I had to do and, taking a mistimed dive, landed legs first, slipping into this quagmire swamp. Lucky I am as light as a feather. My flaying form only dented and did not break the cesspool surface tension. It was a fluke there was no splash. Instead, one of my feet is submerged, weighed down by the watery cocoon, and the rest of me is soaked. Every hair on my skin is drenched though glistening. Sunlight beaming through a tree canopy above is surprisingly warm. I am still shivering, frightened, despite the heat.

A swimming pool, a birdbath, a muddy puddle, even a stream would have been a better choice to source cooling water to splash across my face. Well defined edges, I might have seen my salvation within reach. I might not have ventured much beyond the shore. Landmark bearings that would give enough hope to believe I could find my way back to safety. Hone my finely tuned navigation skills once the water had evaporated from my skin to find my way home.

I miss the place where I have nested with my extended family. I miss the place ruled with fervor by a strong matriarch that I worship with unwavering loyalty. I wonder if I will be remembered or forgotten when I am no more.

I am resigned to my fate. Given the sheer size of the swell and my water-laden body, it is only a matter of time before I drown. This is an unhappy accident. That sinking feeling replaces hot and cold flushes that led me here. Too warm; soaking wet; light shining down upon me; murky darkness bellowing from below. I am in the middle of nowhere with no prospect of rescue. The water clings to me like a damp shroud; my eternal blanket.

I am ready to give in to it, sleep permanently with the fishes. An eel slips by beneath me. Its gentle caress is almost inviting. It has caught a whiff of my scent and circles around for another run. The slippery creature loses interest when it realizes there is no plankton on my skin — nothing edible, only traces of pollen from the last batch of flowers I frolicked among before veering off course.

I would fight against my destiny if I had the energy. I float calm and still as the swell randomly sweeps me here and there. I am wreckage among other debris. All manner of things have let the unforgiving wind carry them into this murky bog. Leaves, twigs and branches, they have all fallen to their doom.

The water throws some driftwood my way in a colossal tease. It practically pierces me like a tossed spear as it slices through the undulating waves hurtling towards me. A swirling eddy created from its momentum pushes me out of the gouging path just in time and, by some miracle, I manage to grasp the wood’s tail as it retreats. The sticky tips of my fingers are able to clutch and cling onto something solid.

I pull myself up, in an extraordinary last ditch show of strength to salvage my startling survival. I crawl along the cracks in the wood, inch by inch, until I stumble into a groove large enough to shelter me from the hurricane blowing in circles around me. I slip into and out of consciousness. The sound of the waves lapping against my lifeboat sooths my ears as the sun dries my wretched state.

When I wake up, the shore is closer than I remembered it to be. It is not so far away after all, perhaps it seemed that way when I could not see over the moving water mountains. Perhaps the swell could have carried me there. I stutter the tiny steps I need to take to find my way to dry land, and there I catch my breath, groggy as I stumble around on my sea legs.

My wings and stinger are intact. The turbulent waters have spared me at least from that humiliating demise. Losing my only weapon — never once defending the honor of my family - now that would have been a disaster. The other drones might have found my dried out shriveled shell one day, yellow and black stripes long faded, in their never-ending quest to provide for our colony, my beloved queen.

I spot her nestled in among the flowers that grow wild near our hive, honey dripping from her legs. It is rare for her to venture outside. Do I mention to her the hazard that almost took me to my watery grave? I am ashamed by my ineptness, my near downfall. Besides, how could she or any of my family ever make the same mistake as me? I will not tell the others about where I have spent my day because I nearly drowned and died.

_______

No bees were harmed in the writing of this story.

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Written by

political whipping girl (aka public policy adviser), writer (speculative fiction/poetry/life), aspiring photographer, wig collector, with Méchant Publishing

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