continued from previous
Michael’s lifeless body moved gently up and down with each passing wave. He was floating head down, facing the depths of the ocean that he had loved all his life. Every limb, every joint was now free to move in any direction: free from the oppressive commands of the central nervous system, surrendering completely to each gentle nudge of the wave underneath. Michael wasn’t just floating. He was flying. He was dancing with the waves, flowing with the energy passing through him. There was no need anymore to resist, to study or to scientifically analyze this energy. He had become the energy itself. They were One.
All lifeforms look beautiful when they die. The tragedy of death exposes the delicate vulnerability that we all learn to cleverly hide while we’re alive. It is now out there for everyone to see: whether through a ghastly wound, a contorted position, or a pale blue skin tone. We try to bury people in long rigid coffins, applying make-up to make them look like they’re still alive – only just taking a nap. But this is rarely the natural position in which people die. We all die in our own unique position, like flowers placed in between the pages of a book. We die as original pieces of art, each one never to be replicated in the exact same form.
Michael drifted further and further away from the shore, further than almost any of the storm debris. The city eventually became a thin white strip in the distance, barely noticeable below the sharp outline of the mountains. Eventually the mountains disappeared from the horizon as well. It was just Michael, the phytoplankton, and the horizon.
(from the upcoming novel A New Earth)
to read from the beginning, go here
George is an author, researcher, podcast host, chemist, molecular biologist and food scientist. You can follow him on Twitter @99blackbaloons , listen to his Spotify podcast George reads George, sign up for blog alerts below, or enjoy his books