The Prophetess
I'm not sure if this is finished or not. dragort doesn't think so. But I like it so I'm posting prematurely. And, by the way, the new user pic is me beside a waterfall 'cept you can't see the waterfall.

The Prophetess
by dani

In the night the prophetess told me of my fate. Beneath the sea, she said, beneath the sea. And so I searched and I searched.

But how does one get beneath an ocean?

And so I looked for the metaphor, perhaps a blue-green equivalent and the notion of the ocean. Beneath a wave or a crest.

It was here that she found me. Lost within a crest. Riding a gigantic wave. I had been swallowed whole.

My fate. It was a good one. Worthy indeed of being trapped forever, mangled in a dusty tome. But vanity always has been one of my strong points, that and an uncanny ability to appear beautiful although I’m not. Still there was this ocean thing that I had to settle. I must confess that having wet hair and pruny fingers was not my idea of lifetime.

And then she came. At first I thought she was made of water. But then I realised that she had no substance. It was all optical illusion her liquidity, her fluidity, her motion or e-motion. So now I wonder.

She said her life was on a timer. I think she set herself to time. Like a masterpiece, or a nymph in the wilderness dancing.

I’m not one for poetry but she had an inescapable rhythm. And it caught and I caught.

Like an old sea pirate I was tossed to the wind and I emerged back into my life soaking. And dripping with earnt ire, burnt through with her timing.

Before a tune was sent me and I was swept within its waves to another shore.

Life is verily like the ocean. I am once again lost within her depths. She draws me in and she draws me on.

It was then that I realised that the prophetess was right. I was already in the sea.

For a while I lived a subjective truth, believing as I did in morality. But all the codes have a propensity for change. Tidal. The way her world was slowly sinking beneath the sea.

And still I persisted in the belief that I change myself. A radical new faith deception. The truth was in the water.

And water it was. Like the glimpse of a floating note lost into the memory of sound. Play me again.

Though she was only water I can still remember the scent of her skin. Salt and sand. Hours wasted into her embrace. Captive in the smoothest of bars.

I loved her. As much as one can love like liquid. She came in with the sun and left by the moon.

Entrancing, disappearing into vapours and almosts and into the taste of silence. Until she comes again. Rising like a tempest. Rising like the wind.

Off the shore, pulling my soul into her eddies, sweeping across as many realities. Beyond the heat of fire. Beyond elemental ice. Unbecoming in intensity. Carefully chosen passion.

Who is she? This water sprite that haunts me. This untamed one that never lets me keep still. Shall I call her freedom?



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