Spirals

mayday

 I sat now under a starry night sky, on the bottom of a large basket of a hot air balloon with nobody to tend to the fire, which was blue and, frankly, appeared to be adjusting on its own accord.

Curious as to where this balloon was taking me, I stood. The basket rocked as I adjusted myself, and I had to take hold of its edge to pull myself up. After steadying myself, I looked out of the basket. I saw the crescent moon, which had just begun to lift itself above the horizon, and took note of the cardinal directions. The moon was east. Under the moon was the sea of sand. To the west were the rolling hills, and to the south was a mixture between the two, a blurry transition of green grass littered with sand. But far in the north, in the direction that the balloon was taking me, I could make out scattered reflections of light, and I realized that I was headed for the ocean.

I have seen the ocean many times. I have been within it, and around it, and it has taken me and deposited me at many places before. And yet, here it was again, as an unavoidable stop.

I remembered what the little girl had told me, and I then thought, what is the ocean?

As if in response, the ocean in the distance grew disturbed, lifting itself up in violent waves that reached up and crashed to the south. The fire in the burner flared up dangerously, licking the balloon and rapidly spreading through it. I stepped back as the flames leapt toward me, and then I was no longer in the burning balloon, but in a small wooden rowboat in the midst of the raging ocean.

I did not know how to pilot a boat.

At the tip of the boat was a radio, with its tinny crackling being drowned out by the crashing waves. The boat swayed violently and lurched to the side, and a wave struck me. I fell to the floor of the boat, soaked by the barrage of waves and increasingly sickened from the onslaught of movement, and made my way towards the radio. The radio had a variety of buttons on it, including a red latch that read "DISTRESS," and in an instant I took hold of the side of the boat, lifted the latch, and pressed the button underneath it. I shouted for help, and when the radio replied robotically with a set of coordinates, I recalled then a vague idea of how sailors in distress call out.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday! This is—"

Nobody is here to help.

The boat lurched again, tipping so far over that it threatened to toss me out. I pressed myself against the side of the boat and reached again for the distress button.

"Help!"

Nobody is here to help, said the radio.

The raging water in front of me gathered itself into a massive wave, and the boat began to tilt backwards.

The daily report is here; folks, there's the first hint of snow! Pull out your household heaters and hot chocolate recipes, because it's about to get c-c-cold! As an aside, it's been raining on and off recently, so be careful on those roads!

The boat was almost vertical now, and I gripped its sides in despair as the water towered over me. Above its crest, I caught a brief glimpse of a set of eyes.

Dimensional carryovers are now a phenomenon that brings rise to concern.
I knew that my question had led to this.

Authorities are seeking to eliminate the source.

I shouted, "Who are you?"

The ocean froze. The boat froze. My arms were growing tired from holding on; my hands were slipping, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I fell.

The radio clicked.

Nobody is here to help.

The voice was not robotic this time. I knew that voice. I grew very tense and, beneath the numbness, I became very afraid.

Right?

It was my voice. Monotone. Drained of life.

The ocean is everywhere. The ocean is the common denominator between every single dimension.

The voice—my voice—laughed. It was a dark, quiet laugh.

The ocean is mine, Aiden.

My right hand lost its grip, and I dangled from the side of the boat. My fingers were steadily slipping. I was going to fall.

You're no traveler. You're a slave. And the more you feed the ocean, the hungrier it gets, and the closer you come to counting how long you can hold your breath.

Why delay the inevitable?

Let it kill you.

Then the water moved again, flinging the little rowboat backwards and tossing me out, and right before the ocean engulfed me, it turned into sand, and right then I realized how I ended up on the edge of the rolling green hills in the first place.

In the next moment, I found myself in the backseat of the family car, cold and shaking. My bookbag was still on my back, and I felt as if I had just awoken. It was night, and I was alone.

~~~