You… Still @125

The Land. An island. It is without a doubt when roaming the blackness of space, a rock at least big enough for one to stand on is a welcome site in the unfathomable distances between systems, galaxies, universes, and even realms. You were in such blackness for invaluable times, so this blackness wasn’t even infinity’s whisper to eternity. Yet… You awoke. Clothes sun dried and hot. Skin burning and mouth dry, you cough out the bit of sand you inhaled moments before. This must have happen countless times in your recent lifeless slumber, but for some reason this one awoke you. There was no phantom feminine voice screaming or whispering to wake you up. It was just you, the sand, the crashing waves, some rocks and cliffs. Your eyes focus and beyond the beach you see foliage, rich, blue, feathery and healthy foliage. And, of course her.

Still on your stomach you idly wonder how the ocean can be blue and the plant life be a slightly lighter shade of blue. You dismiss the thought for the universe is vast. You come back to her. Your sore neck craning to look over your backside, you see the female form’s bubble still intact, but caught in high tide pool. As low tide waves crash over its exterior edge, the bubble ball spins every which way in its tiny stone strap. Like crystal gazing ball on its stand. Wait. The low tide waves are hitting it? They’re hitting it higher and higher. The tide is rising, and abnormally fast by the looks of it.

In a few moments the the bubble with the female form inside it will be washed out to see again, and you are angry at it for that. Not the bubble. The bubble is yours. The water rises as you do. The female form is the object of your ire. The water rises more as you can’t find strength in your legs. Why have you done this? Waves crash, full size against the bubble. You clumsily collapse under your own weakness. Why save this stranger who is for all intents and purposes dead by any standard definition. You feel a tinge of guilt and discuss with yourself as you contemplate just letting it float back out. Your body burns as if this beach were on a sun. More waves crash and the bubble shifts out of the tide pool. She is alive. You know this deeply. Yet the burning of your form fuels a fire in your temperament. Why has she been so still? So departed? Your crippled form screams in agony. Too much effort to land safely on this small island and for what? Too much effort to land safely on this small island to die now. Too much effort to land safely on this small island to let this unknown and peaceful being you’ve cradled all this way drift and most definitely drown. Every pore of your body is mouth screaming in pain as it has radioactive acid poured into it. You reach out your arm that’s not dislocated and crushed under your useless torso and make a hate and pain encumbered–yet filled with hope– sweeping gesture from the bubble to the forest beyond the beach.

Such tests of endurance and the heart heave great strength into the physical actions that follow them. The ball rockets from the high tide ebbs and flows, and shoots over the forest’s tree line. You stiff neck lets your head track it in the sky. Too high. You lose it in the bitter blasts of the sun. Your neck can’t bear the weight of your head. The dryness, the heat, the light; all of it pounds you back into the sand. Again your consciousness falls down a slippery slope to blackness. Before it grabs you… Just before it grabs you, you sense something high in the sky. Just as the blackness ensnares you, your feel this something high in the sky too. Right when the blackness envelopes you, you hear this something as well. This something you sense, feel, and hear is so very high in the sky. So very, very high, and very very far away it seems, you hear a pop. A pop of a distant bubble.