A short story of a damned sea voyage
I swore I’d never go inside the murky waters. Boats are fine, but my feet won’t enter the abyss of nothingness. My five friends don’t have an ounce of fear between them.
You can’t see them. They swim in circles, checking out your scent. Can they smell? I know blood sends them into chaos. Teeth gnashing at the nearest object — it is not me.
‘Explore, they said. It’s just a cave, they said.’
A black hole in earth, ready to consume every one of us.
Salt water burns. No one warns you about that. They don’t tell you the little hairs in your nostrils light on fire. You can feel the membranes rip and twist like they are running from the assault.
No one warns you that you will feel every bite. Every piece of flesh they rip off as they twist and twirl.
No one warns you about the heaviness of liquid grave as you sink in slow motion.
But hey, it’s just my imagination. I don’t know if any of that’s true — I didn’t get off the boat.
It will be a lonely trip back to shore.
Tas The Artist 
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