Manmade Light

Down.

Down.

Down.

Slowly, I open my eyes.

The world is shimmering blue-green-silver, encasing me in its light like an oyster in its shell. Somehow, despite the weight of an ocean clinging to my shoulders, I move forward.

Around me, the shoals of fish bob like pop-up figures in a children's book. An eel snakes past, like a ribbon on the sandy floor, and the ocean shelf is dotted with spiny sea urchins. This place is a fantasy of colors and creatures, nonliving and organic.

And yet-somehow-it is all alive, an Eden of activity. My ears are stoppered with tranquil silence-my skin, mottled by the turquoise glow, has never looked clearer. I move forward.

I wish I had gills, but instead I must surface, gasping for breath. The gray sky above hangs limply, and the distant skyline rots into the ground. As I blink the sting of salt from my eyes, I see the skin of paradise, peeled away from its core-the water mirrors the sky, hemmed by choppy waves, and pieces of debris float everywhere.

Taking a breath, I descend again.

You can't bottle paradise in plastic or wrap it in newspaper, no matter hard everyone tries. I blink fiercely and see the decaying fruit of mankind everywhere. The water surges against me, rank and clouded, and I stretch out empty hands, only to meet the slimy texture of an invisible piece of plastic.

A large catfish swerves away, whiskers trailing and mouth gaping, and shining schools fragment abruptly as I approach. I look at my hands, waiting to see them bright and glowing with underwater magic again, but instead, all I see is my hands.

I wish I could dissolve like salt into the sea. Instead, I blunder through a world made by greater hands than mine and try to reshape everything to fit between my fingers. I shed my plastic skin and leave it trembling on the surface, catching sunbeams and drowning them. I leave my baited nets behind, ignoring the frantic thrashing of those I do not see.

My eyes are too small for this mystery. My hands are too grimy.

I rise, gasping, and begin tearing my way back to shore. I go up, up, up, scattering muddy footprints on the shallow shore, and leave the ocean drowning in manmade light.