Oceanic (Micro-fiction)

The moon was a caped crusader in the kingdom of darkness–white against black, stood out with the most coruscating brilliance. I stood moored to the floorboards of our vessel, facing the otherwise catatonic sky, sipping in the calm. The sea, on the other hand, hummed with vivacity. The swells gently lifted and lowered our boat with its ultramarine arms; up and down, my soul drifted along with the ocean. My breathing grew slower and steadier, falling into a close step with the creaking of the hull, until I could no longer tell the difference between the faint rhythmic kinesics of the cabin door which complained in the careening wind, and the sensation of filling and emptying of my lungs. The draughts of cool and salted oceanic air filled the air-bags in my chest. It was like floating in blackness: every inspiriting inhalation buoyed me up, slightly; every exhalation made me sink back down again. Anchored as I was, physically, but my soul was an unbodied spirit; each suspiration hoisted it up a little closer to the doors of heaven.

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