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The water is slowly turning red. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to spoil anything more than I already have. I wish I could scoop it up, take it back.
Small starconches crowd my feet. Never have I ever seen them full, full of life. Whenever I find them, they are discarded on the shoreline, empty, they’ve been pushed here by the tide. When I was younger, there were many. Luc and I would spend a lot of time collecting them, throwing some back into the sea, gifting others, and keeping most of them. Thinking of it, isn’t a box filled with them in the back of my closet? I should check when I’m back. With another step, I'm deeper into the sea, deeper into its silence, its eternity, its tranquillity. Another step, another. My feet won’t reach the bottom, soon. That’s alright. I’m alright. An alright swimmer, that is. Red meanders curl around my wrist, which are dipping into the salt water now, stinging, burning, painlessly? The sting will come soon, I guess. However, they are creating shadows in the sandy floor of the sea, ugly, dark shadows. I’m taking away the sunlight with my selfishness. I wish I could scoop it up, take it back.
Another step, I'm deeper inside. My shirt sticks on me, it’s wet, it’s cold, it’s uncomfortable. I don’t like the feeling of it. The red marks reach it, it sucks it up. My shirt is red now, as is my conscience, as is everything. I feel my feet go numb, I take another step, before they give up. I can do it. I can carry myself deeper. The water almost reaches my elbows, and it’s tickling me. My shirt gradually paints itself red, the same way my history was painted, the same way I paint everyone I touch. I am the redness that spills from me into the sea. Will I be cleansed, restored, reborne, the way all pure beings are?(1) My wrists are sinking into the water, my hands are heavy. I’m practically falling into the blue. My connection to life slowly flows out of my body, creating shapes inside the water, shapes I'd rather not see. Another step, another one. My neck reaches the waterline, it’s cold, I realise just then. Behind me is a trail. I wish I could collect it, scoop it up, take it back.
My feet give up, but that’s alright. I’m a good swimmer, alright. My head sinks, too, I swim. My blood follows my messy hand strokes. Where’s the surface? Am I already out of breath? Fish come swarming to me, shying away from me but after the delectable smell of my blood. They can’t have it, can they? It’s mine. I wish I could scoop it up. Take it back.
Below me, is a blue flower, shining in different shades of blue, sometimes even purple. Or am I just imagining it? I sink more, water gets into my mouth. No, no. I want to get back out on the surface. The red stopped flowing, the sting is making itself more noticeable, I feel like thousands of tiny needles are pricking each square inch of me. Over me, a cloud of red seems to attract the animals, who are about to feast on it. No, no, no! That belongs to me, it’s mine! I want it back, I need it back! I have to have it, I want to get back out on the surface, I have to get things right! I wish I could scoop it up, take it back.
Next to the ganoderma is a little starfish, its skin a weird, white colour. It looks like it’s dead, turned to stone. It reminds me of myself. Out here, alone, dying with no one knowing about it, with a weird, star-shaped figure(2) that makes people observe it with curiosity and carefulness. The light I see stops shining after some time, and I feel my last breath stopping. I don’t know what comes next, but I can feel my eyes giving out, creating black shapes in my eyes, covering me with darkness. Ouch, ouch.
My body gently scrapes the ocean floor, the tide doing with it as it pleases. Consciousness having long before left my body, the same way living did, doesn’t feel it. My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel. The people are looking for me on the surface. The red cloud of my blood slowly disintegrates, consumed by the water beings or just dissolving. I wish I could scoop it up, take it back.