[twwm] shaka prompt 2 - seabed

It has been two months now since she had been gone; the dogs lay silent by the empty firepit outside, seashells gather on the shore with no one to give them back to the waves, and I hardly leave my home. It has been eight weeks since I heard the door opening in the middle of the night, assuming she couldn't sleep and needed a moment of fresh air.

She closed that door and never came back.

It has been fifty-six days since my beloved wife has disappeared without a trace. Fifty-six days I have watched the sunset without her at my side, 1,344 hours without her hands holding mine as we fell asleep, her chin nestled to the crook of my neck. We fit together like puzzle pieces whenever we curled up, a tangled anagram of legs and arms, cuddled close, breathing soft.

There is a full moon tonight, just like on the night she...

There is going to be a full moon tonight.

My thoughts are scattered as I stumble from the doorway, a man drunk on grief and loss and detachment. I look up at the moon, the dimmed yellow of goat's cheese, pregnant and full. She shines down on me as tears fall from my eyes. I hope she knows that I long for what she took.

The moon hangs lower over the horizon line of water as time passes, dipping down into the ocean, a gentle hand caressing the surface of the water and rippling it with rings of light. I have never seen something so beautiful, so enthralling and welcoming. As much as I cannot stand this night, this moon, and what it reminds me of, I have to walk towards it.

I am almost shocked out of my daze when the first wave laps at my feet, covered in sand and seagrasses that have washed up. The tide pulls me in, gentle at first, but more insistent as I forge my way forward, breaking the flow of the ocean like the hull of a ship.

The moon beckons me ever closer, the vanilla glow becoming the only thing I see, and then my head is under the water. I tread, quickly, trying to keep myself afloat, but there really is no point. Shells float past me, pulled along by the current, and I can see every detail of the Fibonacci spirals etched into them.

Glimmers of grey pearls as oysters open their mouths to feed greet me as I fall to the sand below. It's like I weigh nothing, simply detached from the form I call physical. There is nothing down here to be illumed by the moon, except for myself and the sand I lie on. The oysters, shells, fish, everything fades out of view. I am left staring up at the reflection of the supermoon, wavering, weary, watery. It echoes rings and halos of light over my head, and I close my eyes.

I think that this is going to be it, that I don't really care anymore. I think about my wife, and the tea she makes, one-of-a-kind from our garden. I think about the dogs and how happy they are to see her whenever she leaves the kitchen, hands full of dishes and plates and me, following behind, equally laden.

I think of how warm every blanket she made was, the soft fabrics and weaves of cloth. I remember when she tried to teach me, but my hands were too large and clumsy. She laughed, and it was like hearing the sound of the rain on our roof, deep and throaty and full of life's joy.

I want to be able to say that that moment was my end, at the bottom of the sea left with only my thoughts and hopes and memories, but it was not. The moon's warm light was blocked out, eclipsed by a shape. The creature floated over me, eyes curious, probing. They reminded me of a dolphin, intelligence hidden behind dark glassy orbs.

I reached up, no longer at peace with my death, and clung onto its neck. Something passed between us then. An electric shock traveled along my skin, raising the hair on my arms even though they were held down by the force of the water's pressure.

My arms were trembling as the creature whisked us both deeper. Panic rose under my skin, my last bubble of air escaping in a muffled cry for help. It looked down at me again, with those eyes that held intelligence beyond its time, and seemed to smile with them. I felt comforted, and the squeezing, gripping pain in my chest had eased.

The burn for oxygen was no longer there, and I felt warm inside and out. Again, the feeling of lightness, tingles in my limbs and water through my hair. I felt free, and I closed my eyes, letting go of the creature.

When I opened them again, I was not as I once was, and many other creatures floated in front of me, below me, all around. For the first time in two months, I heard a voice that was not my own. It came from the creature that had carried me here, saved me. "Welcome home."