UnEarth Magazine.

Words by Gracie Larsen-Anderson, art by Lucrezia Belpietro.

THE FIRST NIGHT 

My head meets the pillow and suddenly I’m underwater. 

Flat on my back, staring up at a kaleidoscope of inky black and deep blue. 

My mind can’t decide if it’s a lake or an ocean or a cold, dark sea. 

Trapped, I watch trout, sharks, and all manner of things float by. 

I shouldn’t be able to breathe.        

I wake up, gasping. 

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THE SECOND NIGHT 

I pull the blanket up and hear rushing water. 

Flat on my back, I can see trees and birds and dappled light. 

In the shallow part of a river or a creek or a stream, I can’t decide if I’m part of the riverbed or stuck on it. 

It’s quiet in a way that isn’t quiet at all, and the water is just deep enough that I can feel it in my lungs with each breath.  

I shouldn’t be able to breathe. 

I wake up, gasping. 

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THE THIRD NIGHT 

I close my eyes and I’m back in the deep water. 

I look up at a small, distant spot of light, watching the shadows of fish pass in front of it. 

I see new colors now as the light glints off scales and rocks and coral. 

Blush pinks, metallic blues, soft, unassuming greens. 

I’m breathing in possibilities and find myself sitting upright: 

I want to be a part of the wonder of it all. 

I stand up and dive down and suddenly I never had skin, only scales. 

It’s so easy to breathe. 

I wake up, and all the peace of the gentle ocean rests inside of me.