Tag Archives: sea

The Great Below

He marched out to sea, leaving his luxury tennis shoes in a pile on the sand. While the other beachgoers retreated in light of the approaching storm, K surged forward.

She had returned. Now was the time.

He waded deeper into the water, felt the currents tug at his body.

She vanished into the sea during their honeymoon. Upset about something trivial, she threw herself into the water to spite K, to punish him, full of violence and rage. And it worked. He slid into cocaine addiction and ridiculous shopping sprees. He retreated into himself, blamed himself, cursed himself. He tried to kill himself. Then he bought luxury tennis shoes.

Yet rumors swirled: the sea was different now, violent, unforgiving, merciless. Ships were lost sometimes; people drowned sometimes; jellyfish and sharks and sea urchins attacked sometimes.

He dismissed the rumors at first. But love got the better of him. For he loved her still, after all this time.

One day he went to the sea, to see for himself, this violence, this rage. But the sea was calm, compassionate. He returned the day following, etc.

With each day, his desire for her violence and rage grew. And he waited – always at the edge of the water, always in his luxury tennis shoes.

It was her, today, churning the sea, tempting the weather. He ran his fingers through the seaweed, thinking of her muddy brown hair.

“All of this for you,” he muttered to nobody as the sea pulled him down.


But the Attacks Continue

She said she wanted only to swim with the jellyfish. “It’ll hurt,” I said, “a lot.”

We gazed out at the ocean.

“I know,” she replied, sharply.

She had this thing about being hurt during sex–they always do at first–and was ready to make the jump to daily life.

“I’m a masochist,” she had said the first time we had sex. She didn’t understand that masochism is a complex theory of living. And I didn’t feel like explaining it to her. So I did as she asked and broke her fingers with a hammer before fucking her.

But as she eyed the ocean I became concerned. “Masochism is contractual,” I pleaded, suddenly feeling as though I were discouraging her from having an orgy with numerous men who weren’t me. “I know when to stop. Those creatures don’t.”

She sighed. “Jesus, K. Give it a rest. I know what I’m doing.” She stood and untied her bathing suit. Without looking back, she ran toward the ocean and dived in. I haven’t seen her since.

I wonder about her from time to time: did she drown, did she find her jellyfish?

I ignore rumors of a jellyfish woman with mangled fingers.


Unconstrained Productivity

She yanked at her roots, both fists tangled in brownish/blonde hair. She had been doing it for weeks, eyes locked on herself in the bathroom mirror–tugging and pulling with all her might, until her eyes swelled with tears and her face twisted into a grimace.

“It’s not going to grow any faster,” I said in the most sympathetic way I could. 

“You just don’t get it, “she spat, glaring at me in the mirror. 

Everything changed the evening she came home with her new hair cut, the recommendation of an inept stylist whose theories of hair design have no place in reality. She hated me now. Not because I did anything wrong, but rather because I was part of the world in which she, now seven inches shorter, so to speak, had to live. 

“Just go away.” She pulled on her hair again and slammed the bathroom door.

“You were wrong, K.” I woke in the morning to find myself floating in a sea of her hair. Her voice continued to utter ominous things, but, because of the mass of hair, I couldn’t locate the source. 

I felt myself being dragged  under. It was either the undertow or something else. 


Antinomies of Postmodern Individuality

The tattoo artist was a master of his craft, but what his customer asked for proved difficult. The problem, he later justified to himself, was that “[he] just didn’t know what a woman being attacked by a school of jellyfish looked like.”

Matters were worsened by his extremely demanding customer who, wealthy indeed, was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted. The tattoo artist could have waved him away with a curt flick of the wrist. But the sum of money offered was just too grand to pass up: “Come back at such and such date, and I will have your design.”

While the design seemed intimidating from the outset, the tattoo artist had been confident in his abilities. But time grew short, and the tattoo artist grew anxious.

He reached for his phone, only a few days left.

“Hello, K, I need to draw a woman being attacked by jellyfish.” Plans were made.

The next day he showed up at Q beach at the designated time, pad and pencil in hand. He sketched furiously, creativity liberated, until he realized that the woman in the water was his sister.

Besieged by anguish, he decided to double the price.