Snippet: Yellow
I crossed a bed of snails to find deeper water. Their slipper round shells pressing into my feet like pebbles. Aware with each step of the homes I tread upon. Finally the calm water was past my neck, my feet lifted from the bottom, just as I reached the edge of the shelf where sea bed gave way to mystery. My plan was to swim until I could no longer stay afloat. Or rather, my plan was to escape the group on the beach. Gathered in friendship around a crackling fire to chase off the chill of a summer's night breeze. It came in off the water, so that here in the bay it carries their voices away from me. With my back to shore I can pretened they are gone. Banish the loneliness I feel as outsider to their camraderie. I know them but they do not know me. But I realize, as I tread water, slightly fatigued and skin pruning, that if I return to shore, I cannot take this peace with me. It will slide off, back to sea with the water that drips off me. So I stay, and let the sea water lap at me and bounce me along on a current that guides me further into solitude. The sunset which lit my way into the water was red and brilliant in its genius. But it has faded. The sky is lapsing into muted purple, and now my eyes see shapes along the horizon that are not there. The air against my face cools; the breeze is more persistent. Though I resigned to let the water have me, I feel a sting of fear for my life. Once so precious I could not bear to share it with others. Now too precious to hide away beneath the water. I began to turn back to shore, ready to set my eyes on the crackling flames in the sand, when the water turned to fire. Yellow, brilliant yet murky, lit the sea from below. As dusk collapsed around me, I saw my feet silhouetted against the sudden illumination. Spheres of soft corn-colored light separated into distinct shapes as they rose to the surface from the depths. The darkness of water and sky merged into one. I expected to feel the soft tissue of a jellyfish as one brushed against my leg. I felt an electricity pass through me, but could not feel the object itself. The glowing spheres broke the surface of the water. There were so many of them, but they ascended without a ripple as the sea released them. Their forms had no specificity. I imagined elephants, swans. Snakes, horses. But they were soft and round, and so bright I had to squint my eyes as their entire population rose into the sky above me, and on. Water entered my nose, and I coughed. A harsh interruption in the silent scene. I had stopped treading my feet and arms in my wonder. I wiped my face to clear the water before it could obscure my vision. The lights were gone after I removed my hand again, but the stars were out, lighting my return to shore. Author's note: These snippets are unedited free-writing exercises that I use as a way to shift my brain into a creative state. I use Lynda Barry's What It Is YouTube timed exercises (usually 9 minutes worth of writing) for these. They are handwritten in a composition notebook, and then typed up here. As I transcribe them, I do tiny grammar and spelling checks, but the overall "clarity" (if you can call it that) of the exercise is left as-is.