The sea is a living thing: shifting, expanding, slipping, withdrawing.
In the depths below I watch him sway, caught up in the kelp. It’s wrapped around his wrists and weaves through his hair.
When I swim past him I can see my silver body reflected in his flat, murky eyes.
Nanna is an Icelandic freelance journalist and writer with her nose to the grindstone. It hurts; please, someone send medical help.
It was late. Mintred and Neldred were on their way home from Neldred’s retirement party from Municipal Dolphin Transport.
Suddenly, they heard a shout and a splash. Hardly thinking, Neldred dove and kicked, arriving just in time to save the man’s life.
Thus began a series of new aquatic adventures.
This story is based on a series of tweets in which I asked people to guess what form of transport I was riding.
His mighty lungs seethed with an expansive power that rivaled the greatest operatic diva. His inhalations were vortexes. His exhalations were hurricanes.
His breath was like clockwork, a regular, rhythmic, unceasing alternation of perfectly balanced forces.
It was this, alas, that caused his tragic drowning death in the kiddie pool.
This story was based on a title submitted by @inzyster.