The Sea

The sea was always an unknown. You never knew if you would eat, stay dry, or find shore. It was always easier with an anchor, though. To stay in one place was sometimes a bit boring, no adventures to be had, but always safe. Through sun and rain, the ship was safe, regardless of the crew.

There would be seasons with an abundance of fish, other ships passing by for a chat or drink, and life at sea was fine. Then, there would be seasons of tumultuous winds and rain, no fish for months. I was alone, parched and scared, crying for family. I had considered changing course, a new anchor point, or even a port! But, alas, staying in one spot was safer, and always would be. The open ocean is too risky, and eventually we would have a sunny season, again. Right?

The storms were particularly bad this summer. I tied more and more ropes to the anchor as the ship would sway in the storm. The rope would fray, and I would tie a new one. The anchor would rust, and I would tie a new one. It was an endless cycle in a never-ending storm.

There was a day with a sliver of sunshine, and I would scootch along the deck to follow the one ray. The breeze was actually welcomed, this time. The boat gently swayed, and there was peace, even for just a moment. However, the sun and wind caused my last rope on the anchor to snap.

The wind continued to pick up and the sun quickly hid. I went to adjust the sails, but I was too late. The space between myself and my anchor was increasing, and fast. I collapsed onto the floor of the deck. Suddenly, my ship was impaled on rock, and I was nearly thrown overboard as the waves smacked against the cliffside.

It felt like there was no way to go on. How could I possibly regain control of this ship without something to ground me? There is nowhere safe to take shore, and no one to call and rescue me. Not anymore. I would have to do this alone. But how? Every system I had developed while anchored was useless. I'd have to think back, to before the anchor. To when I sailed the sea with ease. Before the anchor enabled me.

Where were my oars? Below deck, I found them. Rusty, they looked as if they hadn't been touched in millennia. Strong as ever, though. My oars were made of tungsten steel, as I had forged them slowly and with great effort. These oars were made to last me a lifetime, yet I thought I could go a lifetime without them.

I look down at my arms. Heavy and aching, but strong. Grasping the oars, punching them into the water, I begin to row. It fucking hurts. I can feel every part of my back and shoulders screaming relentlessly. Let us rest! You've been through too much. I know. That's why I can't stop. There is not a single person that can save me from drowning. Drowning isn't a choice to begin with, so what are my options? To live. And continue. And push. And heave, heave, heave.

The sea sprays salt in my eyes and hair as the wind blows harder. The thunder even seems to roar at me, reminding me there is much to fear. I scream back into the wind "I... must... LIVE!" I push the ship off the jagged rocks and head out to sea. Was it minutes? Hours? Days? I lost all sense of time, ego, hardship, love. I was only perseverance and pain. Live, I said to myself, over and over.

Finally, a shining ray found it's way to my salted eyes through the thunderclouds. It was relief. Away from the severed anchor. Away from the jagged cliffside that haunted me. Away from the voices of the storm. The sunlight warmed my cheeks, and I began to dry. As the sun left the dawn into the daylight, there was no shore to be seen. I was stranded. Or I was free.

Who knows, the difference between love and pain. The expanse brought such fear yet such hope. That there were ports to be found, ale to be drank, and clean dry clothes. Maybe someone could teach me how to split the ever-combining duality of love and pain. The anchor only taught me that those had to coexist. That endless effort and blindness were the only options. The severing brought me immense pain, and still does. My body aches, and my head is so tired. But my heart is full. There is ale to be drank. Ports to be explored. And maybe a new crewmate or two. As long as they don't pin me down to one rock in an empty bay.