may repeat the tasks on the pre-flippers’ floor,” she clicks, heading toward the door.
“W—will you notify the Authority of my hard work?” I do not take in another gillful of water until I hear her response.
“Notify somebody of his importance that you have cleaned well? You silly girl.” She shakes her gray curls and leaves the room.
I slump to the floor, exhausted. Defeated.
All day long, I clung to the hope that the Authority would learn of my efforts, wished my exertions might affect my sentence. The isolation of pod arrest terrifies me. The absence of social interaction, the lack of intellectual stimulation, and the entrapment of the curved pod walls have combined to suck the excitement and anticipation right out of me. I mourn their loss; however fleeting these unfamiliar feelings were, they filled me with life. Now, I am just… empty.
As my self-pity and loneliness build, I can hear the mumbled sound of a dolphin’s whistle. This far-off noise makes my biggest loss, Haku, even more acute. Since we were partnered, not a day has gone by that we have not splashed through the pod complex waters together or clicked tales of our days to each other. How I miss Haku .
The whistle sounds more sharply, and I kick over to the little porthole. Haku peers through the window. She places her beak to the acrylic, and I press my face to the other side. Only the thin layer of plastic separates us.
A long silence passes until my guilt flows out. “I am so sorry… so very sorry that you were questioned. I didn’t mean to cause you trouble.”
Haku clicks, “I am not the one to worry about. How are you holding up?”
It is hard to pick up on a dolphin’s concern. The curve of their beaks provides the appearance of a constant smile. Their sleek, blubber-lined skin reveals no worry lines or tension. But Haku is my closest companion—my dolphin sister. I notice the slap of her tail against the water, the gentle huffs between her words. She worries about me.
I force my mouth up. “The change from my normal routine is… fine.”
Haku simply stares back. She knows I lie. But how can I tell her the depth of my despair when she is helpless to change anything? Why should I make the both of us suffer?
“I miss you,” I whisper.
She rubs the porthole once more with her beak. “We miss each other.”
“Besides, the Giants will arrive in three more sleeps.” I throw out the one thing that will soothe her. Haku knows how much I dream to hear their song.
It works. Her tail quiets, and she presses her beak once more to the window. “Stay strong.”
I nod. This task she has given me—staying strong—sounds easy. It is only a few more days, after all. But when the blue inside becomes deeper and more intense than all the blues in the ocean itself, nothing comes easily.
Too many people have succumbed to the bleak hopelessness that is our world and done the Unmentionable, tearing out their gills, their only means of breathing. It is whispered that long ago, in the above-water times, there was a name for ending yourself. Now, it is so common, we are not allowed to even talk of it, let alone give it a name.
Often, it is not the Unmentionable that kills them. The authorities arrive in time, provide tanks of oxygen, and take them away. Where are they taken? What becomes of them?
The not knowing is the worst. To outlive your loved ones, but to always wonder of their fate is a terrible thing. This is why I fight so hard—constantly warring with the loneliness and grief, so that I can overcome being dragged down.
I lie in my sleeping pod and imagine listening to the Song of the Giants. And pray my mind—my fortitude—will survive two more long days.
~Steel~
7
The day is finally here. I have not given in to the despair—I will not give in. The Giants are coming. I will finally hear their song; knowing this pushes away the gloom. I hurry to get ready, first running a carved-shell comb through my tangled hair,
“W—will you notify the Authority of my hard work?” I do not take in another gillful of water until I hear her response.
“Notify somebody of his importance that you have cleaned well? You silly girl.” She shakes her gray curls and leaves the room.
I slump to the floor, exhausted. Defeated.
All day long, I clung to the hope that the Authority would learn of my efforts, wished my exertions might affect my sentence. The isolation of pod arrest terrifies me. The absence of social interaction, the lack of intellectual stimulation, and the entrapment of the curved pod walls have combined to suck the excitement and anticipation right out of me. I mourn their loss; however fleeting these unfamiliar feelings were, they filled me with life. Now, I am just… empty.
As my self-pity and loneliness build, I can hear the mumbled sound of a dolphin’s whistle. This far-off noise makes my biggest loss, Haku, even more acute. Since we were partnered, not a day has gone by that we have not splashed through the pod complex waters together or clicked tales of our days to each other. How I miss Haku .
The whistle sounds more sharply, and I kick over to the little porthole. Haku peers through the window. She places her beak to the acrylic, and I press my face to the other side. Only the thin layer of plastic separates us.
A long silence passes until my guilt flows out. “I am so sorry… so very sorry that you were questioned. I didn’t mean to cause you trouble.”
Haku clicks, “I am not the one to worry about. How are you holding up?”
It is hard to pick up on a dolphin’s concern. The curve of their beaks provides the appearance of a constant smile. Their sleek, blubber-lined skin reveals no worry lines or tension. But Haku is my closest companion—my dolphin sister. I notice the slap of her tail against the water, the gentle huffs between her words. She worries about me.
I force my mouth up. “The change from my normal routine is… fine.”
Haku simply stares back. She knows I lie. But how can I tell her the depth of my despair when she is helpless to change anything? Why should I make the both of us suffer?
“I miss you,” I whisper.
She rubs the porthole once more with her beak. “We miss each other.”
“Besides, the Giants will arrive in three more sleeps.” I throw out the one thing that will soothe her. Haku knows how much I dream to hear their song.
It works. Her tail quiets, and she presses her beak once more to the window. “Stay strong.”
I nod. This task she has given me—staying strong—sounds easy. It is only a few more days, after all. But when the blue inside becomes deeper and more intense than all the blues in the ocean itself, nothing comes easily.
Too many people have succumbed to the bleak hopelessness that is our world and done the Unmentionable, tearing out their gills, their only means of breathing. It is whispered that long ago, in the above-water times, there was a name for ending yourself. Now, it is so common, we are not allowed to even talk of it, let alone give it a name.
Often, it is not the Unmentionable that kills them. The authorities arrive in time, provide tanks of oxygen, and take them away. Where are they taken? What becomes of them?
The not knowing is the worst. To outlive your loved ones, but to always wonder of their fate is a terrible thing. This is why I fight so hard—constantly warring with the loneliness and grief, so that I can overcome being dragged down.
I lie in my sleeping pod and imagine listening to the Song of the Giants. And pray my mind—my fortitude—will survive two more long days.
~Steel~
7
The day is finally here. I have not given in to the despair—I will not give in. The Giants are coming. I will finally hear their song; knowing this pushes away the gloom. I hurry to get ready, first running a carved-shell comb through my tangled hair,
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