She jumps from the raft into the big blue from which she believes she
originates. A spray of liquid salt sets the tone, a time when youth meant
risk and when the on-looking conscience took a vacation. The now tumultuous
ripples hide the figure submerged. The whiteness of disturbed water
settling down. The stillness returns. A screaming contradiction to the
abundance of life overpowering underneath the surface. Cunning movements of
her tiny hips fuel her descent. Deeper, deeper, Darker, darker, Colder,
colder. The little girl envisions herself as some adapted creature, maybe
human, who had survived the melting of the ice caps and now fluttered in her
flooded paradise of a world that once was…and now, is. She names herself
Cleaver, “The Cadaveric Nomad”. The water clinged to the earth like that of
time wearing and tearing its way across our bodies, we are crude matter.
“This place is not yet old,” Cleaver thinks as her descent comes to a
slowing halt, “But prematurely young.” A bluish cloud of beauty graces her
left thigh and forms into a smoke-like trail flowing down her leg and
covering her webbed foot. Her feet settle on the watery oblivion’s sandy
floor as a mushroom cloud of sand flourishes like a blossoming flower and
diminishes like cured sickness. Such a slippery little figure. Her
movements are languidly graceful. She lacks strength for her body is meant
for speed and mobility created by grace, not force. A gentle creature. Her
face is tight like a deflated balloon stretched between two repelling hands.
The skin is almost indescribable. Dark lucid blues, grays, and greens
shine so dull yet almost dignified. Cleaver’s appearance is torn, but
pieced together so vividly that one could say she is a beautiful creature.
Her eyes, Cleavers eyes, are magnificent. They pierce the non-existent air
with voluptuous sincerity for they create their own world. Her eyes glow
like a halogen light bulb in contact with a swaying and flowing curtain.
ABLAZE. Like all things, like all things, like all things, they shall
pass. They shall all pass. When feeling un-worthy and winded, Cleaver
returns to the surface.

Cleaver returns, bitter and disappointed, she returns, to their world.

 
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