Nightswim/tangent

A Story by Twentythousandwatersunderthesea

Rain is also water

Night Swim/Tangent

Look at the water, Still, but flowing, It seems like a shame to disgrace the surface tension, but not enough. She laughs. She always laughs. Every time, it's all she ever says and it's nothing. She lives in a house but doesn't touch anything. Just sit back and listen.
/
[Girls in swimsuits swim in pools. Pools with invisible monoflourotone lights. Lights that feel green, sound blue and look black. Lights that you feel like you know too well even though you’ve just met. Faded colours at the beach and pastel blues in your house. Somehow it's perfect.]
/
It's eerie and that's how she likes it. Standing above the pool you've grown to love, you feel connected. She smells the chorine, already inciting the feeling of it coursing through her streaky blonde hair. She imagines cutting the water, feeling her whole body slowly being swallowed by the fluid. The lemon tree nearby pieces her skin from a distance, but it means nothing. Would you get out of here? Now she knows the water is detesting her glide, so, extending her long, thin arms, she propels herself, her aqua-foam one piece swimsuit gripping her long flat body. The swimsuit helps the water to coolly embrace her. A refreshingly cold hug of acceptance. Feeling so streamlined is beautiful. The water is just warm enough to feel like family, but cold enough that you can be friends. As the glide fades out she extends her arms again and contracts her legs, before releasing her energy smoothly into the water and converting it to momentum. Slow down again. A few more strokes to the end of the pool. Make this. Release. Emma feels like the last flowers to the hospital when she reaches the end and that's the best part. Break the surface again. Soften the piano. She takes her breath as the water cascades down her face. She feels finally like she can be what she is. She feels at home. It feels wonderful. It's too dark to see underwater but that's okay too. Nobody needs to know what happens. It feels so perfect to live in this water. She smiles to herself and floats, savouring this scarce escape into weightlessness. The last moments in the water are always the best. She's never getting out. She's here forever. It's too beautiful. Take a breath and dive deeper, past the end, past the release point. Fall. Vision contracts, systems shut down, follicles disperse. The monoflourotones condense into each other and finally nothing. Nothing is left. Lights out. Lights off.
/tangent
Emma is so beautiful. Especially in the water. It’s a shame that she's all dried up. Exhausted and begging for a break. Begging for just one drop.
Not even to drink; just to see it; just to feel it; just to know that it's still there.
The oceans compact themselves and rush into the space of her head before starting to evaporate like a sick machine. The sun doesn't care. She's beginning to blister. It looks at her with a seemingly meaningful expression of attempted mercy, but it has learnt to get over things like her. It’s only friends with the cacti. The sun doesn't know how long she's been stumbling through the red desert, and the sands have no memories. Short films project themselves onto the dunes but they act like transcendental snakes now. The sand is too good to be true. Even if it wants to die it's immune to its own poison. Emma trudges through the sand and it feels like she's been here for weeks. No one knows. Sometimes she sees trees but they are probably trying to kill her. It's hard to stay at ease. Every inch of her body is dry now and she's almost nothing. She’s out of fuel. Collapsed on the sand she's almost ready to be ashes.
Mirages haunt her presence and histamines are lost for a purpose.
It leaves her wanting more.
/
Maybe it will start to rain. Emma's head will explode and rain will fall everywhere. She feels like it would almost be worth it. Maybe when the folded oceans release themselves and leave the salt behind, maybe the clouds will cry tears instead of sand. Maybe the sand will remember its day. Maybe the sun will pay more attention when it's gone and when the world is cool and everything is lovely, maybe, just maybe, rain will let down its intensity and freshness on Emma's cold, fragile, sick little body. A stick girl with nothing left is trying to cry out of relief. Trying to sob the days away and start over; start feeling good. Trying to manage a smile, trying to stay hopeful, nurturing time instead of killing it. Things would be looking up for Emma if she could summon a tear.
But she's dry as bone.
/
Let the water fall down and take her away. Cleanse the girl and inhabit her dreams.
Charm the wind to love the water and have no choice but get hooked on the bliss.

(almost)

::smile
561 words. Not really

:::

: monoflourotone (light)
-mon-oh-fluur-oh-tone
_ light that feels green sounds blue and looks black
_I'll be honest I just made it up because it sounds cool

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