Ever Since the Seas Had Risen

Whenever I want to remind myself of what life was like before the world ended, I burn some toast. As the smoke rises, I close my eyes, breathe in deep, and the smell of the over-crisp bread transports me back to those precious moments right before everything changed those many years ago:

Emilia Corderos was toasting some bread for a quick breakfast during our meeting in her forty-eighth floor office. She was a busy lady—the head of a new humanitarian aid upstart for underprivileged children—and hadn’t had time to eat before meeting with me. She offered me some, but I was already full.

This morning my entire family had taken a break from their normal routines to enjoy my favorite breakfast--pancakes with a mix of cinnamon and sugar sprinkled on top--before wishing me good luck and sending me off on an early train into downtown Los Angeles.

“Odette, I’m not going to lie to you dear,” she was saying while sliding that fresh white bread between the two rows of burners. “A master’s degree in social work is impressive but I’m hesitant because in this day and age we are looking for people with more…real world experience …”

Honestly, I don’t remember most of what she said, because as she talked I began to feel the building’s metal frame shift beneath my feet. Its groan vibrated through my toes and up into my spine.

The world around me grew silent, but Emilia’s mouth was still moving. I shook my head to clear the white noise which was expanding between my ears. Then Emilia’s eyes grew wide. I spun my chair around, following her terrified line of vision to the windows behind me.

Off in the distance, a massive wall of water was rushing towards us, a gyrating blue-black curtain, becoming one with the sky and swallowing high-rises in its wake.

In my dreams the curtain grows larger as it nears me, the foaming white top expanding into the shapes of pointed and curling teeth. I watch it steadily advance but refuse to move my feet. I just stand there craning my neck--attempting to glimpse the sky above wave--calculating how far up I will have to swim to breathe in the air again after the sea swallows me whole.

In reality, the wave shrank as it neared us, crashing to the ground about a half-mile away. The roar was deafening, adding to the white noise in my head, flooding my mind with a torrent of ice caps. I stood up and placed the palm of my hand on the window, gaping as the ocean rushed its slimy tentacles forward across the ground to lick at the base of our building. Behind me, Emilia shrieked. I glanced at her; she had fallen to the floor and was scrambling to crawl out the door. I just turned back to the window.

I watched as swarms of people down below flailed around, ineffectively struggling against the pull of the current. Their soft bodies were slammed against cement and metal when the waters pushed inland. And they were sucked out to the raging sea when the waters changed course. I watched all the vehicles, which had previously stood in nice orderly lines on the streets, were tumbled around like clothes in a washing machine, and deposited in messy clumps against the few buildings built strong enough to stand in defiance against the water. I watched as the water—eventually—retreated, leaving empty streets, slimy cement, and an ominous stillness.

Then a bird with feathers as blue as the sky above interrupted my empty stare. My eyes followed it until it landed on a balcony across the street. I removed my hand from the window, walked through the empty room behind me, and made my way down the stairs. The brush of my footsteps rang through the silence.

I stepped out onto the streets and walked toward the train station, the idea of my home and my family pulling me forward. I thought,

Of course, a part of me, deep down inside, knew better. Our home was on the coast because deep sea fishing had been our livelihood for generations. But, I couldn’t stop, home was calling me, so home was where I headed.

When I discovered that the trains were no longer running, I stepped into the middle of the tracks and walked some more. I walked until the tracks fell into the water, and then I followed them in.

It was like walking off a cliff in slow motion. The waves had pulled everything away. The ground was now hundreds of feet below me, buried in inky-black water. I sank slowly, my eyes stinging from the salt as I strained to see past the debris.

In front of me, buried in the water, the skins of some collapsed high rises were being peeled away with persistent ferocity. Their bowing frames were twisting in unnatural patterns, attempting to cling to each other; holding on to what was quickly becoming a memory.

A frame of glass broke free and came rushing toward me. It was only visible by the glint of sunlight trapped in its downward spiral. At the last moment I cranked my body sideways, allowing it to pass unhindered. Then I was bombarded in its wake; the window had been holding back hordes of people who had gotten trapped in a stairwell. Their lifeless forms were still malleable, allowing the battling currents to toss them to and fro. Their hair weightlessly framed their heads as their limbs led the way for their rhythmic dips and spirals. I pulled my knees up and tightly clenched my arms to my body, cringing as they slid past, into the darkening waters beneath.

As the bodies began to disappear, a golden heart-shaped locket floated up from a young girl’s neck and over her head. The locket rose towards me, a sparkling optimism, defying the depths. I reached out and grabbed it. The smooth metal was warm to the touch, as if it’s owner’s lifeblood was pumping through it.

Shocked, I glanced back at the girl who had sent the treasured heart. Her mouth was wide open as she stared beyond the waters to the skies above. I felt a burning in my lungs, as if the corpse was aching for one final breath. I had no choice in the matter, the last desires of the dead had to be met. I stretched out and grabbed the girl's arm, pulling her up and clutching her to my chest. Then I kicked with all of my energy, struggling towards the surface.

I dragged that little girl back onto land and laid down beside her. Together we stared at the blue skies above and gulped in the air. At one point, as I placed the locket back on her neck, I decided to name her Ariel because she had been set free from the water.

Eventually, our clothes dried into crispy salted planks and the sun began to set. I knew we couldn’t lay there forever, but I also couldn’t bear the thought of burying her. Surrounding her in dirt--permanently separating her from the air by an even denser substance than water--would be cruel. So, I carried her to an abandoned storefront, not ten feet away from where we were laying. I placed a chair outside and sat her in it. That way she could be as close to the fresh air as possible and would never feel trapped again. In return she guarded our new home keeping an eye out for any traffic coming by sea.

It didn’t take long for my new home to become surrounded by more of the dead I freed. I lined my walkway with their skulls, their mouths propped open, constantly gulping in the flowing air. It calmed me, sitting there with them made me feel weightlessness, like the pressures of the world were somehow eased.

The rest of society disagreed. Ever since the seas had risen, people stopped going to the beach. It was a bit unsettling for them to swim above thousands of the dead; imagining their inanimate arms, reaching skyward, attempting to brush against life once more. Rumor had it that a curse followed anyone who was unfortunate enough to feel a bony finger scrape against their skin.

At first, I had tried to convince the townspeople that the dead had no reason to harm me because I was helping them. But they would just make the sign of a cross on their chests and spit at my feet while moving further and further inland, leaving me alone, clinging to the shore.

But, I couldn’t blame them, they had never traveled to the murky depths. They never saw the cramped darkness which I freed those poor people from. All they saw was a reminder of their own pain and suffering. Their superstitions gave them excuses to forget; seeing the victims as enemies was a way to ease their survivors’ guilt. All they wanted was to forget, which meant I never got visitors. Even so, their cowardice didn’t stop them from buying my finds--my treasures--when I would bring them to town.

I would spend hours under water, almost every afternoon and evening, systematically searching the wreckage for anything of potential use or value. Most of the things I found were trinkets covered in grime, rust, and barnacles, so I never knew for sure if they would catch a good price, but I enjoyed the mystery and revival more than wealth anyway. After a few hauls from the underworld, I would relax in a lawn chair next to Ariel, sip some coffee, and watch the sun set over the water which was slowly decaying my past. Then, the next morning, I would haul a cart of cleaned merchandise to the market, in order to haggle with the locals about presumed values.

When I argued against the men with their shined shoes and buttoned up shirts or the women who looked down long noses at me, I always won. My bouncer, Fred, made sure of that, I kept his skull in the center of the top row of my cart. However, I do confess that I often lost to children. They could buy almost anything from me for almost any price. But that was rarely a problem; parents were determined to keep their children away from my bright smiles, cart full of sparkling artifacts, and hands—cursed from touching the dead.

At first it bothered me to watch mothers tuck their children behind their skirts and fathers swoop them onto their shoulders when I got near, but I quickly came to accept it. Besides, it was me they were really protecting, I’d never make a living if I was challenged by tiny hands and pudgy cheeks all day.

It was an easy life. It was a simple life. I told myself it was a fulfilling life. But it was only a shadow of what was to come.