Drink.

There is a place between awareness and oblivion.

A place one can’t differentiate reality from imagination.

A serene place. A terrifying place.

...

Nahla found herself floating in this place when she was struck suddenly by a splash of cold water. It jerked her into immediate consciousness and her brain pulsed violently against her skull.

Her eyes scanned back and forth. She knew what she was looking at, but her mind struggled to process. She turned and looked to her left. To her right. Behind her. Everywhere she looked, there was water. For miles and miles and even further than that. She had woken up in the middle of the ocean and her confusion choked her. A cry caught itself in her throat and she couldn’t understand what was happening. She couldn’t remember anything before the moment she woke up.

Her panic skyrocketed before plummeting into a mixture of hope and denial. She would be found. Someone would find her because there had to be someone looking for her. If she didn’t believe this, her sanity would jump head first and drown itself. Her right along with it. There was no way she ended up in the middle of this massive, endless sea just for nobody to realize she was gone. It was impossible.

Hours went by and the sun beat down hotter with every passing second. Despite her stomach being vocal, she knew that she could survive quite a while without eating. But she needed something to drink. She needed water. And by how cracked and painful her lips were becoming, she needed it much sooner than later.

“All this water and not a drop to drink.” The irony was not lost on her.

“Oh, but you could.” A voice spoke. She spun and found no one. “You could drink every last bit of it.” The voice found its way to her again. She spun around a second time to come upon a face peeking over the side of the raft. But it was unlike any face Nahla had ever seen. It had wisps of golden hair on top of its head that moved almost in dance with the breeze and its skin was a deep green with a thick textured look that reminded Nahla of moss. She had never seen anything like it before, that was true, yet somehow it’s eyes reminded her of her own. She had this familiar feeling. It was as if she were staring at an echo of herself.

“Drink it. You can.” Its mouth did not open when it spoke. The words were merely there, whispered in Nahla’s ears as the wind swept by her. They moved with the salty stream of air and led her eyes down to the shining, glistening thing that called to her. Water.

Nahla began to shake her head. She knew she shouldn’t drink the water. She couldn’t. But those eyes - her eyes - made her wonder for a moment: could she?

“Yes.” Her question was answered the minute she thought of it.

She didn’t understand why, but she began slowly lowering her hand, scooping up a palm full, and bringing it to her mouth. She wet the outside of her lips and licked them to reveal a shocking truth: she tasted no salt. She tasted none at all. Instead, it was the most refreshing thing she would have imagined.

“Drink.” The voice was smooth and swam around her like water itself.

And so she did. Nahla scooped and swallowed over and over until she felt herself sigh with satisfaction. Relief poured over her like the sun that bathed her from above. She slept and dreamt beautiful visions for hours. She would wake periodically to scoop and drink more whenever the voice rose above the surface to remind her, then fall back into a restful slumber.

...

A rescue team finally came across the scattered remains of the boat Nahla had been on when the storm hit. She had been right. She was found. When they pulled alongside the inflatable raft she had found refuge in, they all lost their stomachs at the sight of her.

The sun had burnt her skin so dark, it was almost green in color with the reflection of the water. Her blonde hair was torn out in chunks for no other reason than possible insanity brought on by extreme sun exposure. However, the most horrifying thing of all - an image none of them would ever come to unsee - were the seagulls with their beaks deep in her eye sockets.

With her hand still in the water, they could hear her disturbingly repeat to herself, “Drink.”

There is a place between awareness and oblivion.

A place one can’t differentiate reality from imagination.

A serene place. A terrifying place.

Short Story by: Asia, The Colorful Writer