The Ocean Between Us

I want to show you something, I want to take you somewhere. But be warned, oxygen and reality don't exist where we're going.

Gear covers the floor: masks, fins, snorkels, wetsuits, weight belts. Better suit up. We're going wreck diving. 

Sunken ships and buried treasure, exploring the beauty of a once beautiful piece of machinery that perished beneath the waves and made it's final resting place at the bottom of the sea.

Something like that.

From the boat the waves look calm enough, rippling and rolling gently with the wind. Sunlight dances and shimmers on the surface, blinding the eyes and concealing what lies below. The boat is comfortable enough, familiar at least. Landlubber. Time to dive in, headfirst. Can't explore the ocean from the safety of the boat. I'll show you the way. The rules are different down there. Take my hand and hold your breath.

Beneath the waves, the world above is no more. No blue skies, no clouds. The space beneath the waves is cruel, cold, dense, wet. Immersion. Yet there is life. Mountains of coral reefs and hills of underwater vegetation, amazing each in their own way, teeming with life and color. Towering stalks of kelp, speckled sunlight filtering through it's foliage, swaying gracefully in unseen currents, thriving, growing. Unknown creatures, beautiful and dangerous; swimming by, minding their own business, asking you to do the same. Nature is best left untouched. 

The deeper you go, the more things change, the weirder the creatures get, the more the pressure hurts. Less color down here too, away from the sunlight. The pretty blues and greens and yellows slowly descend into grey. The going gets slow, movement is sluggish.

But you're doing well. Most people don't get this deep without their lungs screaming for air and their eyes burning for clarity. Your average Joe doesn't have the intestinal fortitude to push this far, to see what he's never seen before, to step out of his comfort zone. Instead, he panics and paws at the water, scrambling to return to the surface where the air is clear and everything makes sense. But wreckage tends to sink to the bottom.

Further into the depths we go, where birds don't sing and suns don't shine. Light can't penetrate this darkness. Even the glowing, weird-looking fish don't venture this far.

The seabed looms. Empty.

You look confused. Where is it? No sunken ship or doomed vessel? No buried treasure? You came all the way down here to show me an underwater wasteland? There is nothing as far as the eye can see. No life, no movement. Dead.

Where's the wreck?

You're looking at him.