Welcome to the Story Laboratory! This is where I share drafts from various prompts and writing challenges, fish for feedback, and then head back to the drawing board with everything I learn in the comments.
Put on your goggles and lab coats. It’s going to be messy! Tell me what you really think. Be as mean or as nice as you like, I’ve got thick skin (and an even thicker skull!)
“Ocean Things” by S.C. Jensen
Annemette followed the tide. The rocks and barnacles cut into her flesh like paring knives, peeling her from the bottom up. Her ankles were thick with water, as if they sucked in the sea, held it. Her body was a sponge. Full of holes. Full of water. Full of life. Annemette followed the tide.
For nearly a year, she had been stumbling barefoot across the craggy western shoreline of the island. A monthly pilgrimage. She sought a place that none but the truly desperate could find. She sought the Drowning Hole.
Home. I’m going home.
She chased the tide, relishing the cool damp of the rocky outcropping and the fire of salt in her wounds. The pain was good. It reminded her of where she had been and where she was going. It will be over soon.
The water moved so quickly now. Moonlit waves licked at her, taunting her, drawing her nearer. With each step she longed to feel the kiss of the sea against her heavy limbs, longed for the weightlessness of water.
But her toes, bruised and broken, crushed seafoam instead. Pink, frothy footprints followed her. She moved so slowly now. The lean, graceful body she had loved so much was gone. Disintegrated, in a matter of months. She was a bloated corpse, walking. Still, Annemette followed the tide.
“Oh.” A crack, like lightning, broke through her. The salty burning in her feet was obliterated by something much older. A primordial thing. She fell. It’s coming.
“Ooooooh—” She let the thing crawl through her body and out her throat in a great, ululating wail. Her fingernails cracked and bled and grasped at stone. She watched the rivulets of red running into the tiny tide pools; she watched the blood dissipate into clear, crisp ocean water. Almost there.
Dragging herself forward now, on hands and knees, Annemette followed the tide.
A yawning blackness stretched out before her. Seafoam and swash surrounded it, were consumed by it. The Drowning Hole. Mysterious eddies and currents, sucking and swirling, down, down, down. A place that mortals came to die.
Death is what draws them to this place, the ocean things. Things like Annemette. One year ago she had pulled herself, black and dripping, from this very hole. Her body had felt impossibly heavy. She clung to the rocky shoal, the tide pulling away from her. Abandoning her in this foreign place, in this foreign flesh.
Annemette dragged herself to the edge of the tide pool and peered into the depths.
“Sisters,” she said. “I’ve come home.” The primeval aching tore through her body again. This time she bore its weight in silence. Dark eyes stared up at her from the pool, pale green faces floating upwards. Long-fingered hands broke the surface first, grasping at her. Pulling, like the tide.
“You’ve come, sister.” Hair like kelp and shark-like flesh, they rose. “And you have brought us life.”
“I have brought you life.” Her swollen body heaved, and the creatures pulled her into the water. Down, down, down. Annemette followed the tide.