Page 102 of Devilish Debt
Refreshing.
Between the space from the shore and the space from those that keep tugging at my soul, it feels like I can finally breathe in spite of sinking further and further down into depths not meant for the untrained.
Gently sweeping the light back and forth both entices and repels creatures alike.
I maintain a steady, slow pace along with being mindful of the sharp rocks and narrow crevices.
Keeping the illumination trained down on the ground occurs in hoping the beam will bounce off of something important.
Except it doesn’t.
Rocks.
Sand.
Pancake batfish.
Yes.
Gold?
Silver?
A fucking dining fork?
Nope.
Giving up would be logical and easy and probably the smartest idea – according to the amount of air I have in my tank – but very un me.
And un-useful.
Literally, life ending.
Swimming onward, I continue guiding my light over areas avoiding the translucent creatures in my path and respectfully fucking off when spotting anything that feels remotely unfriendly, an action that veers me a bit off the planned course, but not enough to consider myself lost.
No longer tracking the exact pre-planned lines allows me to recalibrate my focus on what I already know.
Like which fish live where.
Enjoy the habitat of displaced items such as sunken wood.
Sunken wood perhaps from a ship.
Anoldship.
Accelerating my speed is pushed by my increasing curiosity of the broken chunks some of my fin bearing underwater associates have made themselves fans of.
One piece turns to a few.
A few shifts to bigger ones, only for the trail to abruptly go cold.
At least, I initially think it does.
Spotting the faintest piece of wood sticking out of the sand pushes me to gently shoo away the fish to read a barely legible piece of a title.
-nité.
As in…Éternité?
