Cerulean (One Thousand Blues) Read Online Free PDF Page B

then rubbing my Skin until it shines like a pearl. I press myself to the window and watch the line of pod members swimming toward the main exit hatch—to the Deep.
    Finally Professor S. approaches, and I dive down the steps of the children’s residence, not wanting to waste one precious minute of freedom.
    “Eager?” Professor S. winks at me. He knows how I have longed for this day.
    I swallow, my excitement nearly ruined by the reminder that so few are left to know my innermost secrets and care about my dreams. But I force the corners of my mouth upward, hoping that the remembrance of the smile will fill my body with the one feeling I crave: happiness.
    Professor S. continues to look at me, the scales on his forehead overlapping—wrinkles forming underneath Skin. “I am sorry the Committee overturned their decision. How are you really doing?”
    I look at him and shake my head. Please do not ask.
    He stares back at me, mouth turned down. “Ready?” he finally asks.
    “What are we waiting for, Professor? We cannot miss the first lyrics.” I push off and revel in the feeling of soaring through Maluhia’s waters. The feeling of freedom.
    Professor S. does his best to keep up, but I need to pause and wait for him from time to time. Finally, we are at the curved wall of the pod complex, last in a long line that winds down the main pathway. I thread impatiently as we wait for the crowd to go through the hatch, which is too small to accommodate the number gathered.
    Over half the community awaits, eager to hear the concerto. These are the pod members who are fighting for new experiences, who have not lost interest in the sea around them, who will likely survive. It is the remaining members of our sector we must worry about. When they no longer care about something so rare, more precious than a black pearl, it is a sure sign that they are on the path of alienation, isolation… devastation.
    The line has emptied in front, grown in back, and it is finally my turn to squeeze out the large circle. I glide through the waters while Professor S. clears the hatch.
    He hands me my flipper-fins, and I slip them on. When he clicks his readiness, I dive deep, kicking my legs forcefully to push me down… down… down.
    The pretty turquoise deepens into a more ominous navy. The colorful reef fish disappear, the little darting rainbows replaced by their larger cousins in the greys and blacks of the Deep.
    We swim so low that the Surface disappears, so low that the indigos of night surround us during our awake time. My heart pounds, the normally steady thump accelerating in excitement, anticipation, at the novelty of this experience.
    Except for those who specialize in food acquisition, we rarely venture into the Deep. We all train on how to make the dive. When given our tail prosthetics, we attend a class on proper technique: the slight squeeze on the nose, the outward shove of air—so hard when gill-breathing, but necessary to tolerate the deeper pressure.
    There are reasons that humans have remained so close to the Surface, and not just to look up and dream of what may have been… or what could be. The pressure of the Deep becomes too intense to tolerate for any more than brief periods of time. But even this pressure, as uncomfortable as it is, helps eradicate the dull disinterest of the masses.
    Finally, we arrive. Hundreds of Maluhia’s residents float, huddling together in a half circle. Professor S. guides me to the front where I stare in the darkness, watching. I struggle to wait patiently when I am eager… so very eager.
    “Thank you.” I turn to Professor S. “If you did not agree to accompany me, if I had to miss the Giants, I don’t know what I would have done.”
    He tousles my hair, causing black strands to float in front of my face. “Chey, you have been through a lot… too much for someone your age.” He stares at me, so silent I can only hear the ever-present sound of the waters. “I wish we had kept more of