Fantasies were all they were and barely that. They were his buoys more so than hers, but she’d still kiss him on the cheek, still laugh or giggle, and, if none of the above, she at least smiled that smile, the one so perfectly practiced it erased the creeping dangers from view.
When she wanted a drink, he cupped his hands and plunged them into the cold waters. He saw in the water the reflection of the sky, now a light blue. Soon it would—
But she wanted water, and that was enough; water was what she needed, and until he gave her the water, it was all he could think about.
He cupped his hand and lowered it into the water. Bringing it up to her face, her smile inverted to a frown. She coughed, spitting the water, telling him to try it. It had turned acidic. The seawater tasted like copper and wouldn’t stay down.
He leaned over the edge, dry-heaving.
She asked him what it meant and he shook his head, “Not yet. Don’t start until it starts.” He had to be confident. There could be no alternative. But of course, the shark appeared at dawn, little more than a ripple in the water, sleek and silent, barely noticed, until he saw the fin circling the coffin.
The shark was an omen.
It brought with it everything he had feared.
This belongs to you. Now let go.
Arms tightening around her, “I’m not letting go,” he said under his breath.
HER TURN
His arms were heavy and warm. She hid from the cold inside his embrace. There was cold only because she couldn’t bear to be anywhere but in his arms. The cliché of new romances and the desire for consistent affection and contact existed as a cliché because it was true. It was the only reason she held on.
Her grip so tight on his forearm, she wasn’t avoiding demise because she wanted to remain. She avoided demise because she couldn’t bear to have him go.
Somehow he had turned her into his own buoy, his only reason to remain, and it was because of this that she would remain too. Hold on because not holding on would cut them in half.
Severed: her error, as always, ruined everything.
Little kisses kept him from losing focus. In his arms, she wasn’t afraid. However who did he have to confide in?
She took and never gave back. This is what she believed. Based on how he acted, it might be true.
All the fantasies fed were just cause for a genuine smile.
The plainest fear was that he wouldn’t be able to keep the coffin afloat. What could she do…?
Nothing.
Those little kisses were enough until she coughed, spitting out the water he had given, and the entire charade, from her eyes, shattered like the night. Clouds formed yellow borders as if to taunt her. Soon. Soon there will be no way to hide.
For this to work, one character has to know more of the story. One of the two characters needs to be able to read these lines. Every single line read in the past tense, and therefore clearly understood of the implications of being where they had already been. The burden that’s his was nowhere near as heavy as the burden she carried. Every single one of her actions and inactions concealed the true wreckage of this tale.
Forget all about the water. Forget how it tasted. She had known all along how it would taste. Coughing was better than swallowing it down. Eyes shut. That’s right. Shutting one’s eyes would save the moment, the moment that, she imagined he wasn’t able to enjoy. Because of that, she felt a tinge of pity, followed by the truest range of self-loathing, how one must feel when completely alone, silenced from all connection.
She shut her eyes from it all and enjoyed how this felt, how she felt: timeless and safe. Here is all she needed. Right now.
When his grip tightened around her chest, it was enough for her to notice that the moment had passed.
She could feel his shivers through his bloated belly. Though she couldn’t see the shark, the effect of its appearance seeped through him right into the pit of her stomach.
She bit her lower lip, tasting what he had tasted upon sipping seawater.
She could see the sun quickly rising. Its appearance brought not the beauty of a sunny day but rather what the ghosts had warned her about.
Love could be so blinding, it almost fooled her into thinking that she wouldn’t have a problem holding on. To think, forgetting the trajectory of the story, foolishly pretending that it wasn’t going to end the way this is written to end. Looking at him, she could see it plain as the previous day.
They finally have each other, where no one could ever judge what they had, and yet neither would be able to enjoy it.
Counting how many turns remained, she knew there wouldn’t be much time left. And then she saw it.
A shark fin.
Right on cue.
HIS TURN
Shortly after the shark fin, the sun gave its warning and receded behind a cloudy, darkening sky. The sun had no reason to remain. Gave them little more than a warning before it left him to fend off the drizzle that soon became a soft, delicate rain.
“Stay in my arms,” he warned.
It would be right to keep her safe. Whatever it takes.
He looked over the edge of the coffin. The darkening sky made it difficult to see much of anything. He wouldn’t be fooled; the shark was there. And indeed, soon enough, he saw it.
Worse: The shark could be seen in the water, the light grey of its body, the dead stare a reminder of his demise.
The inevitable demise.
How foolish must you be to hold on? Life has elapsed. It was time to let go. Pass on. The aftermath would be the afterlife, as dictated by blind faith. What waited for him over the horizon, past the words of warning that seemed to block his view? He wouldn’t be able to know without letting go, without letting the coffin float in that direction, the direction where only he can go, the direction where they part ways.
No. Words on the horizon read like commands:
KEEP HER SAFE.
CLOSE YOUR EYES.
SHE LOVES YOU.
LOVE HER BACK.
To which his replies were instant, honest, and true:
He would.
He did.
He does.
He always will.
The hero role took hold and the soft rains and darkened sky tore the moment, replacing it for the beginning of what would be a deeply-rooted fear of the sea, of the waters and what they hid from him, rising to the surface, building into a boil.
He saw it on the horizon, the one statement he needed most:
YOU CAN.
And it might have been new, what happened next; his actions, so admirable of a fight to pull her close, to live in this moment, despite the plain melancholy of this tale:
It is told in the past tense. Living in the past, there is no present to save you, no future to explore. All that can be merely was, and if it weren’t then, it never would be.
And this is how it will come to pass. It already had, now is merely a retelling of the tale. Not for the sake of it but for his sake, a hero in death, a simple man in life.
The shark ran its body into the coffin, pushing it to one side. Hold her. Hold her now.
“No!” he shouted.
The rain grew stronger. The softness of this rain concealed the true danger. What little hair he had left wilted. Skin burning, bubbling, and peeling. Not that he felt any of it.
There would be no feeling. It was only physical.
The pain, it had long since passed. A hero held on.
A hero must.
HER TURN