S H O RT S TO R I E S F R O M T H E G LO B A L C LA S S R O O M |
2014
My vision started to darken as I fell through the abyss, the merman releasing me and uncoiling fluidly, his dark eyes
watching my descent.
As I reached the sea floor, lifting a swirl of silt that mingled with the ruby haze of my blood, a last stream of bubbles
slipped from my lips. My lethargic gaze drifted to the spires around me and hollow, empty sockets looked back.
Through the milky glass I saw vitrified bone, a human skeleton curled in a fetal position, glistening palely in the
darkness. Every spire was built over a cadaver; each glassy thorn was a twisted monument the merman created from
the remains of his victims, a tribute to the surface he worshipped. My last, numbing thought was that I would be one
of them. The merman swam over me, gleaming silver, and his pale lips spread into a smile. His sharp teeth gleamed
in the fading light.
The ebb and flow of the waves was what woke me. Rushing over my body, pushing me onto the gray sand, almost
toying with me. Tensing, I drew in a rasping breath, shivering as a cold wind whistled over the beach. I wiped the
crust of salt from my eyes, shielding them from the pale sunlight, and looked over the sea. It had no answers for me.
Was I spared, or forgotten? Had the creature taken pity on me, or had the ocean spat me out, and abandoned me on
the unfeeling sands?
To this day I remain unsure. I know only that, since then, the richness of life means nothing to me. The most
exquisite tastes are nothing more than salt and sand; the brightest colors are shades of gray.
I write you this because the spires have returned. The surface is not where I belong, and I need answers to the
questions that torment me day and night.
I am sorry, but the burden of telling this story is yours. You must prevent others from making my mistake, and
succumbing to the hungering abyss.
Warn them of the call of the Depths.
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