The Open Sea

The Open Sea

I'm sailing away, set an open course for the virgin sea. Surrounded by the endless blue-grey ocean, I was off on my adventure. No plans, just a general direction away from land. Away from people. Away from maddening stores and frantic cars, the hustle and the bustle of the city, and the ever-watchful eyes of the Czars. All my life, my friends and I dreamed of leaving our city and exploring the rest of the world. Sure, we had heard the stories of what might lie on the other side of the expanse of water. Monsters, demons, cannibals, the edge of the world. There were more stories than drops in the ocean that I was now crossing. But we didn’t care. We were young, brave, foolish enough to believe that we could make it. Our trip would differ from all those who had tried before us.

I remember the story of my mom’s aunt and uncle, who, after losing their only child to the lottery, took their chances on the open sea. They spent two years building their boat and gathering supplies. All the while, people would whisper and point and make fun of them. Saying they had lost their minds, and they should just go home and get back to their lives. They carried on until one day; the boat was gone and them with it. They didn’t even say goodbye. I think that hurt Mom the most. That there was no closure. They were there one day and gone the next. After a while, the house was reallocated, and life seemed to return to normal. But I would sometimes catch Mom standing on the shoreline gazing out to sea, searching the horizon. Her eyes squinted against the hazy sun and her mouth pulled down at the edges.

I wonder, will she stand and look for me too?

I left her a note, but I couldn't face her to say goodbye. She’ll understand. I hope. I never really fit in anyway. Always the odd one out, I was the last to be selected for any games. Never asked to the school dances. Even though I aced every exam and excelled in the sciences, the Academy didn’t even want me. They told Mom I wasn’t the right fit. Too liberal thinking, asking too many questions, and not aligned with their ways. She somehow felt like she had failed. She hadn’t raised me right or something. I never quite understood that. Just because I thought for myself and didn’t buy into all their propaganda, there was something wrong with me.

I knew from a very early age that I was different. When I was about three years old, I was outside and digging in the dirt. I directed some water through a series of channels to create a sort of waterway around the mounds of dirt. On each mound, I placed people, animals, cars, and houses and created a kind of patchwork community. I had spent hours developing the pathways and towns. My dad came home with one of his workmates. I think it might have been his boss. They saw me in the dirt, covered with mud, and happy and smiling. Proud of what I had created.

They, however, were not happy. My Dad freaked. He screamed ‘MARJORIE’ louder than I’ve ever heard another being scream. My Mom came running and then she screamed too when she saw what I had done. My Dad grabbed the hose I’d been using and first turned it on me to wash off the mud, then he turned it on my world. He sprayed it all away. Washed it down the yard and into the gutter. His boss was so unnerved that I thought he was going to pass out. After that, they watched me. They constantly observed me playing, worried I would create another monstrosity.

Now, with my face in the wind and the opaque light to guide me, I am finally making my way on my own terms. I’m sure that Frankie and Maddie will understand. They’ve both joined the Academy and are off on their own adventures. Not much left for me to do. Was I expected to just be content working at the local newsagent? Selling magazines filled with propaganda, candy to keep us soothed, and alcohol to keep us pliant? I do not know what I will find and if I get eaten by a monster, well, even that would be better than what I was facing if I stayed.



I’m sure my mom will understand. At least, I hope so. Maybe, when I get to the other side, I can send her a message. Or maybe I’ll just stand on the shoreline and look out to the horizon and wonder what she is up to. I’ll wonder what she had for breakfast. Maybe she’ll wonder about me too. Sometimes. At least for a while. Then she’ll return to her normal life, and I’ll start some new adventure. Or get eaten by a starving demon. Either way, it will at least be something.