Thalassophobia by Tye Lewis

The ocean was an enigma, deep pools of navy water that only got darker the further the sea floor dipped. Solid waves hit the far dock, the wood creaking as the board shifted. You stay in place, the salty breeze stinging your cherry-red cheeks. You just watch the horizon, clouds forming over the churning sea. It almost seems impossibly dark now, the depths of the oceans spilling towards the surface.

“Seabird, time to come inside,” the voice gently coaxes you out of your trance, head snapping up to meet the woman’s eyes as a wave crashes on the rocks.

“Mama, not yet!” you whine, your hands reaching out for the ocean once more.

“Not today, lovebug. The storm’s gonna get worse,” She says, running a hand over your hair and ending at your shoulder. You stand, knees wobbling as the plank of the dock shifts under you. The two of you walk back home together, rain falling as you do. You take another look at the sea, churning waves calling you home.

You toss and turn as the storm rages outside your window, your head pounding with red-hot pain. The pain pulses with the crashes of the waves against the rocky craig, and you cry out as lightning strikes above the inky water. You curl up on your side, waiting out the storm as you shake from the pangs of pain darting through you. You fall into another restless sleep, the storm ending soon after your eyes close against the shocks of light coming from your window.

You wake with a start, drawing a heavy breath as you throw covers off of the bed. The ocean had calmed during the night, washing away the debris that littered the shore from tourists. Today, you would go on an expedition, and trace where the reef ended so your mother could scoop trash from the fragile structures. You, however, would dive. You felt free in the water, the unrest churning inside you soothed by the gentle rock of the water.

The boat cuts through the waves easily, water spraying up at you as you watch them go by. Your mother says something, her voice incomprehensible over the roar of the ocean skimmer’s engine. You nod anyway, not needing to hear her to know exactly what she said. Don’t go too far, wear a life jacket, blah blah blah. The same routine every time, since you were old enough to swim independently. You kick off, arms forward as you cut through the water.

Bubbles rise around you, pushing upwards as you continue to swim down. This time, you favored a line to the boat over a life jacket so you could dive as deep as you wanted. Your belt stops you, the line pulling taut as you swim as far down as you can. You stop swimming, allowing yourself to float upwards as you watch light filter down to where you were. It almost seemed like a moment captured by a camera, the light passing over you in beautiful, shining patterns. You break the surface, taking a deep breath before diving backwards once again.

The ocean welcomed you once again, wrapped in the crisp embrace of the waters that had met you with open arms all those years ago. Faintly, you heard the break of water, the calling of your mother as the line snapped, but you were calm. You sank, the water becoming darker the farther down you went. Your chest burned, yet you continued, your eyes searching the darkness becoming futile as your field of vision shrank. The waters lapped at you, and you took a deep breath.