I stick to my laptop.
I stick to my desk.
I stick to my chair.
I stick to myself.
When I want to get up, I have to peel myself off of everything I’m touching before I’m released to get up at all, to wade through the sticky air that hangs everywhere I go.
I emerge from at least five quick showers a day only to find that there is very little difference between in the water and out of it.
On days like this, I wonder why I’m not a dolphin or a whale or a turtle.
Some kind of aquatic being that glides through the cool quiet of the water in peace from the heat.
Then I remember all the motorised traffic in the seas and oceans, the highway we never pay anything to abuse, and remember that those poor creatures suffer from noise-induced stress.
And while I’m at it, I remind myself that their home has also been invaded, polluted and set on fire.
Well shit. We’re all doomed.
I rejoice for the poor fishermen who found ambergris in a whale carcass and sold it for a literal fortune.
At least their village got some good luck for once.
And I remember how badly I missed the ocean when I lived in a city of 10 million people.
I’d go up on the roof and despondently stare out over the sea of concrete rooftops.
Sometimes I’d hear the cry of a hawk and my heart would leap at a moment of unfettered freedom.
As my eyes strained to follow the feathered dot gliding off to the horizon, my heart would warm at the small balm on my ache for the open water.
Then I’d peel myself off my rooftop perch and go find a fan to sit in front of.
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“When Sasha Barrett gets bitten by a snake on a mission, her squad captain’s quick actions not only save her life, but also make her realise something she may have known all along…“
