At night, while the washing machine spins our soiled clothes, it moans like a haunted whale song. Notes echo through the dark rooms, tempting us to a depth we’ve never met before. Slipping away beneath the waves of sleep, the songs carry us until we’re resting on the backs of giants hidden at the bottom of the sea. Their skin, like velvet, holds us against the undulating weight of the water trying to carry us on.
“You aren’t meant to stay”
The giants drop us, sending our bodies down into the darkness. We fall forever, deeper and darker than we knew possible, before landing in beds of sand. Small creatures, keepers of this new darkness, prickle our fingers and toes. The sand curls into the folds of our skin and dances through our hair. The itching is infuriating but the darkness is heavy. It sits on our chests like a bully on the playground, pummeling our faces with meaty hands.
Suddenly, light, a small beam reflecting from a hook strung down by a fishing line. It roots in the darkness, searching for the target, before finding the fabric of my gown. More hooks descend, each carefully hooking our linen night clothes and pulling us away from the sand. We ascend, past the giants, towards the light. Our previous fears fall away with each grain of sand taken by the tide. Anxiously we await the chance to truly breathe.
Breaking the surface we are met with nothing but fishing boats rowing away.
Image from the Pexel’s photo library