My hand my breaks the seal of water, separating the skies from our world. I can already feel the cold air gnawing at my fingertips, weaving ice through my veins. Shafts of light pierce the ocean’s murky depths, entwining brilliant turquoises into the dark green blue of the water. I give my fingers a wiggle, waving at the outside world. I wonder if anyone can see my lone little hand? I peers upwards through the membrane of water and begin to see little drops of rain exploding on the surface. I slip my hand back into the tepid waters and tilt my chin so I can gaze at the sky, distorted by ripples that crawl across the surface.
The sea folk say that there is another world above the ocean. Some say that objects called “boats” exist. Boats as big as whales, they say and huge metal birds that plunder across the skies. I don’t believe a word of it of course, suspicious nonsense I say. How can there be more than our exquisite world beneath the surface? I think of my mother and her constant warnings“Sebastian, never venture above the the ocean waves. It is more dangerous than you could ever imagine.” She would say to me, and every time I would promise her I would go no further.
But how can I resist when I have had a taste of the cool air that licks at my fingertips? Why can’t I stare up at the majestic creatures that glide across the horizon into the great orb of yellow light at the edge of the world? I wanted to swim towards this light and leap out of the waters before being swallowed by the sea.
But everyday I would take one last longing glance up at the barrier than restrains me from this unknown world and swim back towards the dark belly of the ocean.