He was plunged into the icy water and the noise and chaos became muddled and distant. The reflections through the water shimmered, obscuring his perception of up and down. He could see a distant face of a man; writhing; thrashing; drowning. A macabre scene. Compared to the turmoil that had only occurred minutes ago on deck, the moment was peaceful, and the wreckage, and all its gleaming burnished contents plunged to the deep unexplored crevices of the blue blackness below.
I’ll be gone, in a day or two.
He thought this. Maybe it is wrong to question whether existence has a worth. Maybe it is just too big and complex to even attempt to consider except if one is some divine creator. He didn’t know about that… When creating the elements that fused and fountained, washed and whirled, bubbled and brewed, the fallout was not just accretion, gravity, orbitation and interstellar dust but also art, animation, intelligence and existence. In the whole of the universe, bent and cyclical, one small piece, one unimportant rock was granted one significant gift. The human race was ultimately an experiment. And why? If one was alone, not some grand celestial being who appears and evaporates, wise and all-powerful, but was just simply alone, it should be no surprise that companionship would be the answer, the obvious pathway. Space rocks attract those alike, gravity harnesses and unifies, orbits depend, and interstellar dust provides a nebulae nursery, where everything is connected, related and harmonious. Surely one alone in all of this would only naturally seek to find something akin in thought and existence, despite the consequences? One would grasp it with all of their strength.
She looked over at him, a blur of shadowy grey under the failing light, through her watery eyes. To him she looked ghoulish and grim. Her deep set eyes carried weighted shadows which resembled macabre hollowed skeletal sockets, and her hair stuck across her face, its rich black against her pale skin resembling cracks, or deep cavities in broken earth. She was still beautiful though. Not in a beautiful way, but in an ominous way. She mirrored his darkest thoughts, but in physical form. She was sadness, anguish, and depthless anger, but so too was she glorious. Just as he had often yearned for his pitch emotions to surface and consume him, the familiarity of them happy at the same time as it was sad, she was magnificently sorrowful, and sorrowfully magnificent.
