Blind Date Of Nautical Bliss

"Blind Date Of Nautical Bliss"

those violet color contacts always had a strange way of making my mouth dry and my lips quiver. her eyelids would drop suddenly, like a broadway curtain signaling the end of her performance, while desperately coaxing applause from me, her shocked audience. in tiny moments like that i felt almost alive, like hope was just around the corner and we could chase it down hand in hand.

in those days of quasi-bliss the sun seemed to shine a thousand times brighter, giving me migraines that were well worth weathering just for a single hour of gazing upon the siberian skin that shrouded her insides. a simple pleasure of being near was tested by the thorns of enviromental stimuli from every direction. what can i say, i've always been a little sadistic to myself when it came to affairs of the heart, especially when she was involved.

our hearts sailed the vast seas of dysfunction in search of medicated shores. when those shores were reached, landed upon and claimed by our egos, we were bathed in tones of calm, chalky comfort. we spent days frolicking amongst the numb feeling of dead nerves, auditory and visual hallucinations, and eventually the come down we wished wouldn't catch up to us again. it was when the shores ran red with emotion that the waves of our seas would become a peril worse than the fate of desolation, or even death.

as the salted spray of tidal waves crashed down around us, her driven snow skin would peel down to the sands she stood upon. she began to change into a sort of beast, the kind that was always talked about as being hellbent on the destruction of the world. those violet contacts would soak up her blood and become crimson orbs filled to their brims with unadulterated hatred and loathing. her muscles, now threadbare, turned a shade of black darker than the starless skies. this was her inner demon. as always, me being the first mate, i was left to fight off the beast bare handed. having been in only a handful of battles with this side of her siberian flesh i knew, all too well, the dangers she would be setting loose upon me.

her words became as sharp as assassins' daggers and were held by her serpent tongue, poised for an attack on the nearest body to her's. i charged toward her, not for battle but to gather up her skin. she screamed at me in a voice constructed out of obscenities and lies, spewing the tar of her lungs and the acid of her stomach. i had to make for the sea with her skin bundled up in my now sweating arms, it was my only hope for saving us both. my rubbery legs made a mad dash for the waves that sought out our bones, the same waves that brough us to this poorly supplied island of medication.

just behind me her demon was giving chase, at a sickening pace, with it's eyes boring a hole into me looking for my weakness, hungry for ammunition to use in it's assault of my heart and mind. the demon breath was filling my lungs like oil, thick and torturous oil. my feet carried me with her skin as quickly as possible to those salt waves of salvation, making enough haste to turn sand into glass. thats when it happened: the calming cool of the seas swallowed me up and drug me down into the abyss.

darkness surrounded me. cool, sweet, peaceful darkness was all around me like embryotic fluid. in those first few seconds my eyes scanned for the nearest part of the sea floor, hunting for the left overs of that calm comfort that would shake her demon free from the world above and seal it back up inside of her. to see it surrended to her skin was always a sour victory, but it was a victory none the less. with her skin bundled up in one arm, i used the other to swim closer to the bottom, closer to her temporary cure from the serrated speech of her inner demon.

we sank together to the ocean floor and i spread out her skin on the sand and corral. those empty eye holes lay staring up at me with a haunting expression i can only define as sorrowful. my hands began sifting through the sand and silt, at the bottom of the sea floor, until i pulled up two heart sized clams. i pressed them, one by one, to my lips and gave them a simple kiss in order to open them. without fail the clams awoke from sleep and offered up a pearl, the saving grace of the seas, that would tame the beast above and restore the snow skinned girl below.

i pressed the pearls into the sorrowful eye holes of her discarded skin, leaned down to the skin of her face and placed a small kiss on her lifeless lips. those pearls began to rotate and glow an amazing tone of azure, glowing brighter the faster the pearls spun. her skin slowly sealed itself back into the form of her siberian flesh, becoming whole again and full of life. it was then that i swam back to the surface with her, hand in hand. as our heads broke above the water we saw that the sea was again calm, almost beckoning us further out.

together we walked out of the sea, on to the beach and sat down on the sand, still hand in hand. the beast had been drawn back into her heart with the pearls, the saving graces of the seas, and sealing it up for now. she turned her head to me and spoke these words, "don't you hate it when that happens? sometimes i'm just not myself, thanks for being patient with me." i stared at the sea for a moment more before answering her. "i don't hate it, i just don't like it. we should go now sweetheart, this place has nothing more to offer you."

we stood, facing the sea, and headed for the boat. i asked what direction was next to be sailed, she chose west, so now we sail west in search of more medicated shores and tones of calm, chalky comfort.

when you sail the seas of dysfunction, where do you end up and which direction do you sail?

Dax.