My Little Row Boat.

I sit up from my lying position. Gripping the side of my little row boat I look out at the endless seas. Sunless skies above the sunless seas, the black soup below the grey void above. Bobbing endless to the melancholy melody the waves enforce. Nothing to do. I lost a paddle long ago losing the will to row. The single paddle lays next to me at the bottom of the hull. My only companion as useless as I. Sometimes I rock the boat, to fight against the waves that enforce their will. I thrash and splash in defiance but it does nothing, mere ripples in the soup.

My only companion I take into my hands, for the first time in a long time I stare at him. Just to appease some deep sense of drive I take him and plunge him into the sea. Row, row, row. The boat spins around its self. Pointless. To spin in place, such a waste. Row, row, row. Spin. Row, row, row. I push slower and harder, longer and controlled, feeling my muscles burn. Row, row, row. I am alive. “Ha Ha Ha”. Hysteria. Row, row, row. Spin. The fire inside me burn as hot flame. Row, row row. I look over the side of my little boat. The sea has began to spin on itself. Row row row. I push harder now. Row. Row. Row. The ocean begins to open itself up to me. Spiral turns, as I heave.

Standing now using all my might. ROW. I see now the maelstrom I have created. Forged by my own hand. A mile across, seeming the bottomless, the sea has caved to my might. Looking over the edge, I decide. I steer my little boat into the eye of the storm. I scream as I dive down the walls of the sea. I grip the front of the boat and carve down deeper and deeper. Beside and below. Above and alone. The world is swallowed up. I push the boat down harder. Spinning and Spinning. Fast and faster into the spiral. The ocean floor is in sight. Though I don’t see treasure. Infinite blackness falls bellow the eye of the storm. I stare into my own soul seeing nothing, no stars, no light. Nothing. My flames extinguished. My will dissolved. The light fades. The heat snuffed. I surrender lying back, flat in my boat. The spiral slows. The storm resides.

I sit back up and and stare at the sunless skies above the sunless seas, the black soup below the grey void above.

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