Sailing in the Sea of Self

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. It was when time slipped sideways into the moments between eternity and infinity. The old world was new again and all were neither asleep nor awake, while everything was impossibly possible. This was the moment when the old woman liked to venture out into the sea on her small boat. She knew we are all but sailors in the sea of ourselves.

Her boat was old, as was she. Her skin wrinkled like the roughened hull, and her hair white like the blistered prow plunging through the ashen foam of the waves. She had lived a long and eventful life, but she still had a thirst for the final adventure. Every night, she would pack her bags with food and water, and set sail into the unknowable.

One night, however, the air carried a different sensation. As soon as she left the shore, she felt a strange wind blowing from the east. It was a hot wind, and it carried with it the breath of something ominous. The old woman looked up at the sky, and her heart skipped a beat. The purple clouds had turned into a deep shade of red.

She tried to ignore it, thinking that it was just another storm passing in the night. But as the wind howled stronger, and the waves reached taller, she knew that all was arising. The red hurricane was upon her.

The old woman gripped the sides of her boat, her nails scratching inscriptions to the indifferent gods as she was tossed around by the ferocious winds. She prayed to those gods of the deep, and begged for the mercy of the abyss. But the gods were not listening to the breeze in the hurricane. The storm grew stronger, and the boat was hurled further away from the shore.

As she was propelled further into the unknown, the old woman noticed a shadow moving beneath the surface of the water. At first, she thought it was a shark, but as it came closer, she realized that it was no ordinary shark. It was glowing red.

The shark swam alongside the boat, and the old woman could feel its eyes on her. She was afraid, but she was also mesmerized by its beauty. The shark seemed to be leading her somewhere, and she chose to follow it.

For three days and three nights, the old woman and the shark traveled together. They survived on the food and water she had brought with her, and the old woman talked to the shark as if it were her dear friend. She told it stories of her life, and the shark listened intently.

On the fourth day, the storm had finally passed. The red hurricane had left nothing but destruction, and the old woman and the shark were the only ones left alive on the vast surface of the sea, with no land in sight.

The old woman had lost all hope, but the shark had not. It continued to swim, and she chose to follow it. After a few hours, she could see a speck on the horizon. As they drew closer, she could see that it was a small island.

The old woman could hardly believe her luck. She had survived the red hurricane, and had found an island to call her own. She turned to thank the shark, but it had already disappeared beneath the waves, as if it were perhaps never there.

The island was small, but it was lush with red and purple vegetation. The old woman built herself a small hut, and lived off whatever the land provided, while she caught fish from the sea. She had no need for anything else, but she wanted more.

One day, as she was sitting on the beach digging her toes into the damp sand, she noticed a small boy approaching her. He was no older than ten, and he was carrying a small burlap bag. He told her that he was lost, and that he had been wandering the sea for days. His eyes where red and purple, and his teeth were sharp as a shark. She closed her eyes and her tears of gratitude fell to be lost in the waves. The indifferent gods had at last provided a merciful friend for her final adventure. The old woman and the sea of her selves.