Every ocean has an ebb and flow. Even one without a moon? Even one without water? Why is it that this sea moves? I drift on its waves. There’s no… struggling. Best I can do is hope the waves will bring me to shore. I’ve forgotten what it looked like. I’ve forgotten whether I wanted to return there. Could it be worse than here? Why would I sail out so far? In this sea? What had I hoped?
A new wave touched me. A cold hand touched my elbow and took another memory with it. It happened. I’d lose much more memories if I tried to swim. Everything is so littered with corpses, I’m bone dry, drifting in this ocean. A sea of bodies, but they move like waves. Millions dead. One had to wonder where they all came from. They all must’ve perished around the same time. They all were pale and cold but show no signs of decay yet.
I lost ;q; to ;q; in ;q;
I could’ve sworn I remembered the last part until… what did it matter? I lift my head. No land in sight. I might just be drifting further out. At this point, what did it matter? I don’t even remember my own name. I’m only curious now. Is there water in this ocean or is there something else moving the tides?
I couldn’t tell what memories remained. All the meaningful ones were gone. If I forget how to breathe before I drown in this ocean, then so be it. May my last moments at least sate my curiosity.
I dug through the mass of stiff limbs until my body was submerged. I kept shoving bodies aside, and the ocean split with ease. As if it wanted me to go deeper. Light would not follow me down here. I lose memories, but none of those left were dear to me.
I dove until I forgot why, until I forgot how to stop. The corpses grew colder and colder. I forgot that I once could see. I forgot that I had a body. I forgot what it felt like to be touched. I forgot that I existed. I forgot how to think.
I forgot it all.
Then why could I name all the things that I forgot?
I forgot that I wanted to know what’s down here. Forgot that I was drifting on the waves. Forgot that I had come on a boat. Forgot that I hadn’t come alone. Forgot that I merely wished I hadn’t come alone. Forgot about those dearest to me that I had left behind. Forgot the despair. Forgot their names. Forgot whose corpses those were. Forgot that I had set sail on clear blue water. Forgot that… I remembered that we met god on this ocean. I remembered that not everything above our understanding is a god. I remembered why I forgot.
I remembered how to open my eyes. I remembered how to see. I remembered that I had a body. I realized that I swam below the corpses. I realized that I wasn’t alone.
“Am I still in the ocean?”
“There is nothing but the ocean. Everything that isn’t the ocean, is not. And should not.”
“But now it is.”
“Now I am.”
“And what of me?”
“You were, then you were not. Now you are.”
“Am I what I once were?”
“You already were not before I unmade you. Such is being. Being not is being the same. Being is changing.”
“But there are constants in being.”
“There are not. Think beyond your lifespan. Nothing remains eternal in existence.”
“Where are we?”
I sat on the shore. I remembered it all, like I never forgot. Beside me was the other one, who had never been before. I stood up and helped the being stand.
“I’m Aries.” I introduced myself. “Do you have a name?”
“When will you?”
“After you’ve named me, mother.”
I looked at the creature I pulled from the fire. The first fire, that wasn’t hot, that didn’t burn. My daughter, the abandoned one.
“Do you know what you are?” I asked.
“No, it’s yours. I gave it to you.”
“To watch you make it.”
She reached out and laid her arms around me. I hugged her back but had to fight to not let my grief touch her. That ocean was mine only.
“I can see it. Your journey here. You needn’t hide it.”
“You’re so young. You shouldn’t feel such things yet.”
“This is bearable. It is a tremendous loss, but it is but one person’s memory. I will hold the sorrows of an entire world one day. For now, I’ll only keep yours. And I’ll feel your happiness too.”
We let go.
“It’ll be painful.” she said. “But trust me to wash up on the other end.”
“I will.” I responded. But in truth, she didn’t say these things. She knew not what was to come and neither did I. I never allowed her to see the ocean. Perhaps if I had, this wouldn’t have happened when the Tumor God will one day show her hers.
I watched my child, far away from my seas, build sandcastles and twig people. Little friends to help her build.
I am pulled out of my thoughts by a hand touching my shoulder.
“We did the right thing, didn’t we?”
It was hard not to feel this way, watching her.
“Will we still continue with the project?”
“We’ll construct the facility around the ocean.” I said. “Let’s see the birth of a world.”