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Alive in the Eddy



As always, when we got to the sea, and the shoreline had receded into obscurity, a pall of depression fell upon the boat, and most especially upon Dmitri, still sullen because he had been forced to play the Russian again. “I LIKE Russians,” he’d explain, “but the FOOD! YEGH!” Russians are excitable like that; it was all in character.

The pitiless sun blazed down as was its wont, and the boat shrank lower and lower in the water to escape its brilliance. Soon we were submerged, and the tiresome flotilla of novelty-seekers crowded around us, nibbling at the gunwales and making nests of all our hair.

Then came the part I like the least, not so much being torn at by scavengers, but after that, lying motionless, rotting hulks on the sea floor, while the slow rain of muck painted us like a shroud. The waiting of course, skeletons all and it’s such a drag.

But at last the excitement! Discovery! Lovingly hauled to the surface and our carcasses put on display in the Museum. That’s my favorite part – center of attention but we don’t have to respond. Of course nothing good lasts forever, there are the inevitable scientific advances, DNA research, cloning from our bone marrow, forced-growth in a lab, foster homes, youth, first sex again, adulthood, media circus and all the rest. Then comes the return of ancient memories, we’re confused, think we’re going insane, the boat trip, meant to clear our heads, the storm, flashbacks, recriminations, etc. etc. etc., and so it begins again: dawning horror followed by frenzied attempts to escape, all futile of course, and so on.



THE END (of sorts)