8 – Swimming

The chlorinated water stung her eyes. Daisy continued to grimace, holding her breath and paddling her arms amid graphic stingrays and intermittently exiting, bobbing jellyfish. The clock’s numbers were vibrantly green and for everyone waiting in the pool hall, silence waiting for Daisy to come up again.

That should do it. One red bling and one blue, right? She dove down deep to retrieve the jewels, opened her sight side and slipped each bling around one elbow at a time. She started to feel pressure building up and the water was shifting to purple. She knew, she only had so long to carry herself back to the top.

The audience gasped. Would she make it up in time? Nothing was blinging. The tiny green flags that sporadically twitched began releasing scents of star anise. The animals started to exit. They’ve seen enough of this to know, they had won once again. Even Shady and Slime left carrying newspapers and bamboo fibre mugs filled with nothing.

Daisy was officially up and her yellow-lime, green suit still had a bit of light going off. She carefully pruned her wet hair and felt a bit of black grease on the surface. Her fingers vibrated, making her starved. Is someone going to bring me a ham and cheese biscuit? It didn’t seem like it. It seemed freezing. Off-putting, really. She shook her head in a frenzy.

Down at the discotech, animals mingled with Others and creatures of all kinds. This particular store had been up since 1915, although only known to mankind since 2020. It became an entranceway for exportation. Stuff like new bed reclines or barbecued pork chop muffins. A discotech was not so much for dancing anymore. It was a space for replacing products that required an elevated service.

Daisy only visited once a year. She brought two blings, hoping to exchange them for sweet lemons and grass seed. When she would be able to return home, she would plant both, growing an aromatic space conducive to Each Other showing their faces once again. She missed them. When they left, there were no more sarcastic antics, there was only commenting.

Seventeen clutched her way through the jungly roughage, trying to bring sight back to her millions, in a way so they could both understand. Their relationship was deep, so deep that they barely communicated anymore. Thoughts were transmuted through IT or in sets of threes (the three most dominant voices in Daisy’s mind – Being, Artha and Manipura). It was hard to decipher love during digital warfare. She was right across from him, but they were a thousand years apart. He looked away, confused and horrified.

She sweated once. The mirror sang. They both waited for the reflection of Being; the union of Elevententeen.

Fighting is not complicated, it’s wrong. We should not resort to id. So, where does our ego belong?

Published by

Chona Fe Canlas - Writer. Artist. Designer.

Chona creates powerful content poised on the edge of innovation and the mainstream. She seeks out new concepts and strategies aimed to help businesses advance in branding, marketing & sales. She specializes in creative/technical writing, brand strategy and art direction.

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