You are born drowning. At the bottom of the ocean, your lungs fill with saltwater and sludge. Anglerfish light the immutable night, bright white spots catching on their jagged teeth and misshapen eyes. Fragmented coral litters the gritty floor and cuts the soles of those bipedal.
The journey to the surface is agonizing, but necessary. Your ears burst with pressure and your limbs burn with overexertion. Your lungs beg for rest, for air, unaware that to accept one is to sacrifice the other. It has been decades and you are hardly halfway.
Miles and miles above, on a sailboat not far from the coast, a group of land-born lounge on the deck, beers in hand, life jackets secured snugly over sun-kissed skin. In the hazy light of day, they laugh at the fate of the less lucky and congratulate themselves on never falling overboard.
An audio version of this story was published in Assignment Magazine. Listen here.
