Teach Me How To Swim

1

If we live on an island supposedly so safe, why do something we fear surround us?

It was a long pressing question, which Marie no longer had the will to solve.

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     When it comes to the wind roaring in from the east coast, what causes it to change? Is it just the will of the earth or the supernatural changing of the tides?

Here I sit in a boat carefully crafted with wood from the willow oaks and softly painted the color of an old growth tree whose fruit, when unripe, has a color that is found to be pleasant to the eye. To my continually wandering and distracted mind, it was peaceful. A cloth, used as a tarp, provided an elaborate sort of sunshade, held together by fastened wood and careful knots; there I lay under the sun.

     As the wind came through again gently rocking me, this, unfortunately, caused the scraping of my outstretched talons to scratch up against the interior of the narrow boat. Shame I was not a valid whittler of reliable and steadfast of watercraft; otherwise, I would have sailed a long way some time ago.

Instead, I am forced, to my demise, to have my vessel wrangled by a rope to the edge of a dock that I dare not undo. A "last survivor" such as me, one of the few left with the pride of feathers that are attached to the scapula of the back, are sought to be protected. I found that I have very little free time, which is indeed a tedious everyday issue. My brother insisted that he linger around me for as long as he deemed sufficient, which was typically an all-day affair.

     Particles of salt flecked against my lashes, causing me to blink several times in a more rapid motion, in an attempt to sweep away the stinging sensation. Deeply, I inhaled the scent of the sea; it burned my nostrils and yet filled me with a terrible sense of content. A millisecond of calmness made a presence ring in my head. A presence I soon wished to debunk, it was a pestering madness.

Marie, oh Marie. You wish to have me, so why do you mourn?

I've wept long and hard at the ache of my broken dream; tears pooled so vastly I could've built an empire of sandcastles. However, what's the point of having an empire of sand, when there's no smooth land to build it on?

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     Time seemed to be going on very slowly, as the everlasting brightening sun cast down. It turned the seconds into minutes and the minutes in a hot hour. Without remorse, it taunted me. The tide was sending in powerful gushes of the great blue powerful water and spraying it into my poor unprepared craft. Time was growing limited, as I had a particular amount of other heedfully dull activities to fulfill, so I knew the time for irritable brother to make a quick remark about my unyielding procrastination was growing near.

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     They say to stop doing an action that will soon spiral out of control before it gets to be too much to handle, I often wonder if that is how my people see me? The young lady who is so preoccupied with her dreams is to doom and damn us all to death? Upon telling my brother of my wishes to be amongst the fish and the coral wreaths that lie below where any harpy dare venture, he saw me crazy. As he sought out the help of the others of the village, they too remembered the horrors that happened in the battles at the beginning of our small communities. Monsters of hell were grappling onto the wings that serve as our pride and tossing us into the ocean to drown, or so the story goes. Why must the past discredit us? Why must I pay for the constant urge, and I cannot deny it. Mourning has done me no good; pity and scandalous looks upon me won't make the sadness disappear.

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     With a saddened face, I pulled my boat back into the old, unused dock as my brother beckoned me forth. The rope was feeling rough against my hands as my steady grip got me back to land, my feet having a particularly hard time finding balance, as the boards creaked upon the slightest touch. My feathers were damp, dimming the colors of periwinkle and soft blue until they manage to dry. My brother offered his hand; I took it desperately as I lurched forward at the loss of my footing. My dark hazelnut brown hair flinging forward in front of my face, I quickly regained myself, embarrassed no less. I heard the small snicker of a laugh as ringed out my hair, I glanced at him, and "I do not see how my near injury is funny to you, Dmitry" My gaze changed to the food he had set up, "thank you for the food though." Eagerly I sat down, looking forward to a decent meal. He sat down as well, and careful grabbed a handful of cultural crackers and stared at me some. Perhaps noticing the usual life in my eyes to be gone, and replaced with some light that was unfamiliar and gloom, "I laugh because you are typically a much-focused lady, and today you seem to be rather saddened." I gently put down the couple raspberries I had grabbed and was reminded of the chance of dock spiders and my sudden disappearance in hunger, "Why did you insist on blabbing to the whole village that I had been found perhaps a little off my rocker?" "I never said you were crazy, Marie." "Ah, but Dmitry, you thought it. As does everyone now and I am no longer seen as our protector but instead a killer because everybody refuses to see anything other than routine. I am sorry for wandering a little over that what everyone is used to, but you had no right to throw a shade upon my once good name completely.

Now, what am I to do?"