The Wall

The brilliant sun rises with immediacy, casting the water and everything inside of it into a warm glow. I bask in the light, feeling its warmth as I stretch out all eight of my limbs. I glide along the sand with freedom, I have long since learned that there are no enemies for me here. My own food is found often, like clockwork, and I am left only to observe the vibrant ecosystem around me.

The calming push and pull of flowing water moves me through the cerulean deep with the consistency of a metronome. I let the motion carry me for a moment while I take in the tranquility of my surroundings. The pinkish tentacles of the anemone engulf the tangerine-hued clownfish that tempt their prey to be poisoned, groups of fish with iridescent scales flashing in the light, even my own bumpy skin, mottled brown and green, make up the staggering colours of the ocean.

Languidly, I make my way toward the giant transparent wall where I spend my day, inspecting the peculiar goings on in a world I can barely understand, despite my daily observations. I reach out a long tentacle until I make contact with the glass. My suckers latching on, holding me tight to the tank. The familiar pluck, pluck of my tentacles echoes around me as I maneuver my long limbs along the expanse of the pane.

I catch a flash of colour darting in my peripheral, another school of fish. The synchronicity of their motion stands out in stark contrast from the chaos I watch through the looking glass. Small, four-limbed creatures dash around, pulling larger beings behind them. They move awkwardly and seemingly without rhythm or purpose. Their colours are much more muted, lacking the vibrance of the coral reef that I am used to. Each day I watch these curious animals, trying to figure out how they fit into the same world as I, separated only by the clear dividing wall.

I am startled as a starfish-shaped limb collides with the glass without warning, if it weren’t for the pane between us we would be touching. How I longed to feel the smooth sand-coloured flesh of these bizarre beasts that populated life beyond the glass. It opens its mouth threateningly at me, but I don’t cower. Its teeth are dull, its mouth small. I cringe at the uncomfortable vibrations it creates by banging the five small tentacles repeatedly on the glass between us. Mercifully, a larger beast beckons toward it, perhaps to intimidate. The smaller creature whips its head around and unsticks its fin, leaving a sticky outline on the pane. I watch as it falls in line behind the rest, moving as a disorderly group.

I peer curiously at the print left from the gill-less creature's tentacle that was near me just a moment before. I can’t help but feel akin to this creature despite our differences. I am filled with fear as the same boxy, orange whale swims up, opening its black abyss of a mouth and swallows the creatures one by one. I want to yell out to warn them, but it is of no use. They don’t appear to fight, they are simply drawn into the belly of the beast like a fish is drawn to the bright light of a lanternfish. Not a single soul is left behind. I wonder how so many return with the rising of the next sun only to be devoured by the end of the day.

Eventually, I unlatch from the window and drift back into the deep, awaiting tomorrow when I return once again to observe the waterless exhibit of the animals beyond the glass.