For ages, we've more about the space above us than we have about the oceans we rely upon to live. Even the most sun-dried fisherman never ventures more than mere feet beyond their surface, even though he lives beside them, using them, day in day out. There is good reason for this. On that fateful journey I took so many years ago, I discovered that the sea-surface is an infinite blue cloth, concealing a truth so horrible and existentially awful it defies explanation or reason. Nevertheless, this truth is so fundamental to our continued existence that to ignore it would be to climb a trunkless tree, it is so foundation to the human experience that it exists separate from any understandable causes, a pillar, resting on ether, which exists unto itself.
On October 10th, my crew and I set off, down into the depths of Challenger Deep. We meant to explore the ocean's greatest depths, and uncover it's greatest mysteries. My ship—The Pandora—was crewed by eight accomplished professionals, not including me, each either a sailor, doctor, or scientist. Upon reflection, I mislead by including "doctor" in that category, because The Pandora's crew has only one doctor, by the name of Castile. As a military doctor, her skill is unmatched; she was specially chosen for this mission because of her skill as a combat medic. She is tall, thin, and utterly unflappable; much to the conversation of one particular researcher I'll discuss later on. Two of the remaining five are soldiers, the tall brawny blond types that look like they were grown in a top-secret bunker vat. Commander Rydern is older, and the most senior of the two, but you could only tell by his scars. He speaks gruffly and rarely, but with a deliberation that attributes his silence to careful intelligence, not ignorance. I think I heard Rydern and the younger soldier—Lukacs— are related through their mother, but I'm intelligent enough to not ask either one is this is true. Rydern would just blankly stare at me, but Lukacs—built almost identically—would glare and grimace, his face slowly becoming more and more orange until it resembled a diseased tomato, until I became too frightened and left. I imagine Lukacs thought this (infamous) grimace intimidated us, but it really only made him look vaguely constipated. I imagine that he made it this long without being taunted for it because no one had the balls to tell him. The head researcher was a portly old fellow, but not at all jolly as the label "portly old fellow" would suggest. He was intensely myopic, both in his eyes and judgement, and cruelly dismissed all things not related to his beloved marine biology. I would think he was some sort of ichthyophile or crab fetishist, but the thought of Dr. Ramfield in any sexual light so disgusts me that I would rather become a crab fetishist myself than even consider him as a sexual being. Regardless of my thoughts, the knowledge that no sapient creature possessed judgement flawed enough to find his snappish oceanic pragmatism endearing comforted me on lonely nights. “At least I'm not him”, I thought. By then again, he’ll probably still be living when I'm long-dead, his studies having mutated him into a horrible half-lobster monstrosity, which continually grows larger instead of sagging with age. The last two crew members are the good doctor’s underlings: Ms. Esther Ibarra and (the eternally unpronounceable) Ms. Heiðrún Sigríður Vilhjálmursdóttir. They were both brilliant marine biologists but also—much more interestingly—involved in a torrid romance, their love breaking past any and all naval regulation or government policy forbidding relationships between colleagues. Because it was incredibly dangerous and secret, naturally, everyone knew the minute they stepped on the ship. They tried their best to hide it, even at one point acting hateful towards each other. It didn’t last, our sly nudges and half-lidded, insinuating gazes at their “arguments” telling more than any words: their ship—no pun intended—had already sailed. All assembled together, we set off, thinking the sapphire ocean a herald for safe waters. We were optimistic, excited, and totally ignorant of anything to come.
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AuthorMy name is Sam. I like writing, reading, and watching (good) television and movies. I'm also very bad at self-description. Archives
January 2017
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