The Mystic

Drousy and cold from the night, a sea serpent rises from the depths of the ocean to the surface to bask in the light she is so deprived of. It is the most important moment of her millennia of life, for it is the only time she can escape the lonely reality of her life.

    She rises into the murk of a new day, sediment clinging to her like the greedy hands of a starving child. The sun is reflected in her wide, wise eyes as a brassy disc of fire, hanging low and fat in the great dome of sky that curves overhead. 

    Overhead, overseas - sunlight writhes and twists amid the waves like her own glossy coils; flashing brilliant and glorious over her like the touch of a lover, the look of a lover. Warm and knowing.

    Slowly, sleepy and aching with the cold of night, she rises up from the deep into the light, the black of her shadow stretching, falling away with every upwards motion. That same ache - cold, burning bitter through her veins, so cold - slows her, drags her down like a corpse over her shoulder until her shadow grows sharp and fierce, grasping at her as her wings, her fins, sink into the trench wall. Holding, clinging. Her coils shift in the currents, slowly settling against the trench wall until she rests there, comfortable. Her dorsal fins shift and quiver with nerves as she relaxes too much and life streams from her - air, bright silver and so precious, so precious.

    The loss is reflected in the sudden burn in her gut, her limbs. She grumbles to herself and for a mile around her every living thing stops in wonder.

    Tipping her head back, lifting her neck up towards the surface, she eyes the glittering waves as they throb and swirl beneath the air that presses down upon them so very viciously. She steadies herself, kicks away from the trench wall and surges up, towards it. Into the light, always. Always

    Rising over the chasm's lip, she soars over the garish colours of a reef and sending the sharks scattering as if they were nothing more than a shoal of minnows. She beats her fins, accelerating through the blue, joy urging her onwards as much as the dull burn of her lungs.

    So close, so close - she flaps, twists, writhes like the serpent she is until finally, finally, her great thorned head breaches the waves and she arcs up over the water, streaming liquid crystals in her wake. She stretches heavenwards, lifting her fins up to the glorious light, and breathes. 

      When the sun dies she dives again, sinking to the bottom of her lonely ocean trench until the light calls to her come morning and she obeys its summons, as she always has and always will.

     They call her 'Sea Serpent,'  but really - she is more a creature of light than of the dark waters she is forever doomed to soar beneath.

    A creature of light, in a realm of darkness. So lonely.

The End

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