The World That Is Only Rocks
A fairytale, of sorts
“I live on a very sturdy rock now. I found it a couple years ago. This was all just the tiniest outcropping. But I had been flailing and drowning so long it felt like the whole world beneath my tired feet.
I reinforced it, of course. I made it bigger, and bigger. I’ve let others catch a breath here, feel solid ground for a moment before they have to go back to swimming. This rock is not quite big enough for anyone else to live here too.
But this rock is sturdier than any of the others I’ve lived on. Storms came, wore them down, and swept me back into the sea. I know this rock can withstand those storms. I know I can too.
But I also know a stronger storm, more violent than any I have ever survived, might come. I will not be ready for it. And although I don’t know when, knowing I will not be ready, no matter how much I prepare and plan, is comforting.
At some point this rock will feel too small. I will have done all I can with it. And I will wade back into the water, in search of a better rock. I will not be ready for that either. But that’s okay.
So while I sit on this rock, not knowing a lot of things, like whether I will be here tomorrow or back in the water, I pay careful attention to the moss that grows on its edges, and the schools of fish like you that pass me by. I taught myself to do this. I am not waiting. I have waited before and that seems to wear the rocks down so much faster. So I am not waiting. I am living.
I try to remember, sometimes, what it felt like in the water. Constantly swimming. Growing tired. Drowning so quickly it always took me by surprise. Of course I never really drowned. I’d kick hard, or a hand would pull me up, and I’d gasp air until my heart slowed enough I could swim again.
It is harder to remember the rock, the ground, when you are in the water. It is a world you have lost, and while you might find a new world, its shape will feel strange on your skin. It will not feel like your home until you make it one. And that takes time. And faith. I don’t remember how I learned faith, I only know that I have it, even when I have nothing else.
It is harder to remember anything in the water. Anything besides swimming. Anything besides not-drowning. Eventually you forget that solid ground exists. Maybe it never has, for you. You question the point of swimming. You question the point of not-drowning.
For this reason, I collect a piece of stone from every rock I have found. They weigh me down a bit, of course. Eventually I will shed the oldest ones to keep from drowning. But when my hands graze the sharp edges, I remember. I may not remember the point of swimming, but I remember that there was a point, once, and there probably is one now. I should keep swimming.
When I have lived on the same rock for a long time, like this one, I like to sit and wonder. Is this it? Was I born into a world that is only swimming from rock to rock? Was everyone else born into this world too? Is there a world that is only rock? Or only swimming? Or something, anything else?
I don’t know. I will probably never know. But it is a beautiful idea, isn’t it? A world without drowning. Where the rock never feels too small. I keep the idea in my pocket with the stones. Maybe one day I will feel it with my own hands too.”
The girl fell silent, and gently ran her fingers through the salty tangled curls dangling from her head. The fish skull at the girl’s feet did not reply. But I did.
“The water is not so bad for everyone, you know.”
The girl startled, but only a little. Her eyes were a deep rich color I had never seen before.
“Why are your eyes like that?”
“My…eyes? There’s nothing wrong with them. Who are you?”
“I’ve never seen that color before. They must be very precious.”
The girl thought on this for a moment.
“They are. Do you need to rest here? I can make a little room.”
“No, it’s much too hot for me up there. I’ll cook. Then you might be tempted to eat me.”
I nodded towards the fish skull and, a little further away, its severed spine. Her head tilted slightly. I flicked my tail, and her precious eyes grew a little wider.
“Is that—your fins, I mean—precious?”
“Very.”
“Then I could never eat them. Or you.”
A wave, a little larger than the others, slapped against the rock. That made the girl jump. I chuckled. I slid my hands onto the rock and gave it a hard shove.
“Didn’t you say this was a very sturdy rock?”
“Stop it!”
“Haven’t you stayed here too long?”
“I said stop it!”
“Have it your way, girl jerky.”
“My name is Bubbles! You, you weirdo! Why are you so mean?”
I smiled and showed her my precious sharp teeth. Bubbles was not a name given to one destined to live long in this world.
“I’m just having a bit of fun. Do you know fun, Bubble girl? Does fun exist in your world of wonderful rocks and horrible swimming?”
Her puckered pout hardened into a glare, then relaxed entirely. Without a word, she picked up a pebble and threw it at me. It landed a foot past my head. And another pebble, and another, missing terribly each time.
“What are you doing?”
“Throwing rocks in your water. I’ll throw so many rocks you can’t swim anymore.”
I snorted.
“What happens when you run out of pebbles? Will you throw the rock you’re standing on? Pick apart your home just to spite me?”
This, too, gave her pause. She collapsed with the weight of a thousand rocks and sprawled out on her back. I sighed. The fun part was over.
“I have an answer for you,” I said, and I waited. But she was stubborn. Most rock-dwellers are, hardened like the stones they cling to, the old ways they can’t let go. Ones this young, less-so, usually. I was only a little older than her, and yet she carried herself as if she had seen both the dawn and death of all creation.
“I can tell you the answer, but only if you really want it. Otherwise I’ll have to go. I have others to talk to.”
“The answer to what?”
“Your wondering. Would you like to know? Would you like to know if this is really it? If this is all there is?”
“I already know. You’re here. I’ve never seen anyone like you before. Did you always have a tail?”
She sat upright. The sunlight threw golden sparks into the precious-colored irises. I had her attention again.
“No.”
“Can I have one too? It helps with the swimming, I bet. I don’t like swimming but you seem to, so maybe I can learn.”
I smiled, concealing my pointed teeth with my flesh-red lips this time.
“Yes, you can, Bubbles.”
She started to slide towards the edge. A sudden frown fell upon her face as her gaze dropped to the hands I had rested upon her rock. They were long-nailed and pale blue, bloating out from the thin finger bones. She could see the surface of the stone through a jagged hole in the fleshy bit between the thumb and forefinger. A bloodless hole in a dead hand.
I swallowed. Foolish mistake. But there was no sense in panicking. If she tried to swim away, I would swim faster. Even now, I could nearly reach her, if I was quick enough. All it would take was one bite.
“Get off my rock,” she whispered. My grip slipped from the rock as if it had turned to ice. Clever girl.
“Please, you don’t understand, you’ll never drown if—.”
“You answered my question. Thank you. Now please go away and never come back.”
Her face was resolute, and a tug from the dark depths called me home. I had already spent too much time in the sun. My skin was beginning to smell.
Even as I dove down into the dark, I felt a sort of gladness. I held one of the pebbles to my chest. It felt so strange, yet distantly familiar. Maybe there was another world. Maybe there was another way. If anyone could find it, I had a feeling it would be a girl with precious eyes named Bubbles.
And if she didn’t, she’d join us one day. They all do.
Thank you for reading Every Nook Uncanny. If you liked what you read, please share and comment. The audio version of this story is also available on Apple Podcasts and Spotify. You can follow Mae on Twitter.