What the water gave me

The Meeting

I drew circles in the sand with my toe, then watched as the water washed them away. My life was exactly like this. Pointless. When I came down to the beach, I didn't only want to leave behind my parents' never ending cold war, I didn't only look forward to reading the cheap, erotic romance I'd smuggled out from my mother's lingerie drawer. I had much grimmer plans.

I was so plain sometimes even I'd have forgotten about myself if I hadn't been enclosed in this prison of flesh. "Maybe if I left my body behind, I could be free." This thought had been buzzing in my head for weeks. When the breath of the sea touched my face and the smell of rotting seaweed clung to my skin, it felt like a call. I hoped to get lost, to melt into the embrace of water.

When I walked down to the sea, death was calling to me. I was looking for a song to fit my mood; I should die with style at least. After some searching, I settled for What the Water gave me from Florence and the Machine. I sunk my mobile into my pocket, among all the white pebbles I'd collected during my walk. I shut my eyes tight and let the sunshine caress my face. The world was different through closed eyelids; it was more beautiful and more mysterious. In the dark I believed anything could happen. I walked deeper and deeper into the cold waves. The water came up to my knees, laying siege to the bottom of my shorts. I felt cold fingers reaching after my ankles but I knew it was only the seaweed hiding in the depth. And yet, swaying on the waves of the music it was as though I'd arrived to a world in-between.

A hand grabbed my ankle. I couldn't persuade myself any longer that this was some kind of anthropomorphic water plant. I could feel the strength of the fingers and a sharp nail scratched my skin. I fell out of the trance and as I came around, coldness swept over me. The clouds became denser in the sky; the sunshine on my face melted into nothing. I looked around in panic; it was like waking up from a dream. The shore was far away, its colours different from what I remembered. I shrugged. It didn't really matter.

I looked down at my reflection, the dumb face I knew to the point of boredom, the one I loathed so much that I'd been willing to throw my life away. My mirror image fell to pieces on the back of the waves. The only thing remaining were my eyes. My boring puddle coloured irises now burnt in a red flame. Not albino rabbit-red, but a fiery reddish brown similar to a chestnut roasting on embers. I was bewitched: those eyes could see the very depth of my soul.

The most surprising thing happened next. My reflection emerged from the water and looked me in the eyes.

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