Snakes and Saltwater

He screams to her over the whipping wind, “You should never have told me you can’t swim.” For a moment, she thinks she hears a twinge of regret in his voice but she can’t be sure. This boy she trusted, cared for… doesn't matter. It’s too late now anyway. His strong fingers bury deeper into her hair like snakes burrowing in sand to escape the rain. 

The rain. The wind would be bearable without the rain. It’s cold and tinged with salt, cutting into her face and mixing with tears to blur her vision. He pushes her further along the rocks. Out, out, out. The sea angrily tears at the sides of the darkened rocks. Her head is bent down, her gaze forced at her feet. She watches as the blood seeping from her torn feet dilutes with rainwater and races down the crevices of the rocks to spread into the sea. The sea that’s getting closer every second. The churning water is covering so much of the rocks beneath them now she can see the water clearly, black and bubbling up, trying to reach them.

For a moment, his fingers release her black hair. Her scalp tingles in relief and she throws her head back. She feels tightening around her ankles and looks back down to see a broken piece of boulder tethered to a sagging rope. She has a brief moment of realization and hysterical laughter unexpectedly bubbles up in her chest. Why bother with the rock when you know I can’t swim? Her mind drifts, further disconnecting with reality the closer she is to meeting her end.

This morning was dry. Waking to warm light, green and filtering through the trees. Light escaping from behind the green canopy in yellow bursts when the soft breeze pushes the leaves aside. The light heats her skin, which is becoming brown with the start of summer like the fresh inner flesh of young coconuts…

Thick twine rakes across her trembling ankles and drags her mind back into her body, which is swaying unsteadily at the edge of the rocks. She draws in a sharp breath as her body registers the biting cold again and her toes curl tight against the rock attempting to steady her. She has almost regained herself when her knees buckle as her legs are kicked out from beneath her and she’s shoved into the sea.

What she’s surprised by most is the quiet. The silence gushes into her ears and traps her in her mind with her own racing thoughts. The Blackness pushes into her face, filling every pore and opening in her body, rushing and churning like both her ears are pressed against the caverns of two conch shells. She feels the pressure building as she plunges down to the seabed, feet-first dragged by the weight of the rock cutting through the currents. 

The rock explodes into the wet sand and sandy water rushes up to cradle her and softens her landing. She feels the last bubbles of air fighting their way out of her lungs, anything to escape the intense pressure. She wrenches her eyes open as her lips part and one small bubble of air escapes. She watches it shimmy its way upward toward the surface with pangs of sorrow. There will only be so many more of those small gems spiraling up and away from her. Desperation begins to claw at her throat. She whips her head around, expelling more precious air and kicking her feet like a wild animal in a snare. 

Dots of white start to creep into the edges of her vision. Each release of bubbly breath invites them deeper into her line of sight. Her head and heart are pounding, her hands bloodied from attempting to tear the rope away from her ankles. She only knows her tears are there because she feels heat at the base of her eyes, dissolving into the unforgiving seawater. 

Her desperate thrashing is finally too exhausting and she lies still, watching for the light that the dying speak of to show at the end of her narrow tunnel of vision. Her hand reaches out to ground herself against the sea floor as she isn’t sure if Death is a peaceful ferryman or an unforgiving executioner. As she reaches, her hand grabs a rock that has a smoothness that is so unnatural she uses her last drops of energy to peer at it. Is it glowing? No, you’re just delusional from the lack of air. No it’s glowing. It can’t be. Is it reflecting something? As her mind grasps for what is reality amid her confusion, a voice slithers into her ear, “A pure heart of gold that sinks, or an empty heart of wood? Which do you prefer?”

Definitely delusional. Is this what Death’s voice sounds like? 

The voice returns, a smooth hissing repeating the same question, adding this time, “I won’t ask again.”

Float. Floating sounds beautiful right now.

The voice disappears. Before she can think any further, an involuntary shudder causes her to suck in the salty cold water as her body loses its ability to suppress the instinct to breathe in.  She braces herself for the searing pain warring with her lungs. As she sucks in, she’s shocked by the taste of air. A sweet breath of air. The pounding in her head warily dissipates as though it is unsure whether to let it’s guard down. She tentatively tries again. Again, a clean, warm breeze gently travels through her body, relaxing her rigid arms and neck, the joy at feeling alive bursting out of her.

Wait, no. This isn’t possible. You’re at the bottom of the sea.   

“It’s what you asked for, Julia.”

The voice. It returns and sounds satisfied, smug even, like a child that has wrenched a candied apple from the hands of a younger sibling. Pain slices through her chest and then the thud of her heart slows, she has the horrific sensation of warm liquid pouring out inside her, emptying of life. Confused, she claws at her chest and her mouth opens in a silent scream.

Julia watches as her memories flash before her, so strong they blind her as though she’s emerging from  a dark tent and pushing open the fabric into the white, sharp sunlight. She squints and sees her mother ahead of her on a long stretch of sandy trail in the dense tropical brush behind her home. Her mother turns to smile at Julia and calls out to her, ‘Hurry up, we’re going to be late!’ She shuffles her feet quickly along the trail and nimbly over the roots jutting into her path, excited at the prospect of seeing the glow-in-the-dark waves her brother told her about. She could never tell if he was just trying to trick her again into believing one of his stories that he would later make her feel stupid for believing. Her mother though, her mother wouldn’t lie to her so she lets the excitement jolt her forward even more quickly, three small steps to each of her mother’s graceful strides.  Her mother turns again to look down at her as she closes the distance between them, but this time her mouth curls into a snarl and she digs her sharp nails into Julia’s shoulder. This isn’t right, this isn’t what happened! Julia is jolted to the present, more memories flash before her, poisoned and twisted, making her angry, hateful, knowing they’re wrong but unable to recall the correct version of them anymore. No more comforting memories, they’re not just being ripped away but twisted and sharpened and shoved painfully into her heart; her heart that continues to drain of memories: of what it’s like to be loved and cared for and comforted and held. She feels hate and rage taking its place as she floats to the surface. 

“You’ve given up your goodness for your own breath, selfish girl.” The disembodied voice chuckles in her ear. “You’ve allowed your wisdom, your strength, your purity to be replaced by the blackness of the sea. So easily you let me tear into you and rip away the goodness, and for that, you’ll be punished to a life of cruelty. From here forward, you’ll be known as Medusa, and if the newfound hate in your heart isn’t enough, any attempt at love that wanders toward you, you will turn it to stone with just a look.”

The currents shove her toward a small island and violently smash her into the shore. She pushes her hands beneath her to find black scales digging into the sand and pushing her up. She feels hatred for herself jolt through her, hatred for that voice, hatred large enough to turn the world to stone, and so she will.