The water was a blue glass, cracking at the very touch of my fingertips. Each drop was delicate and insignificant to the pristine surface of the pool beneath the palm of my hand. I watched the smooth surface crack at my faint caresses, my arm limply fanning across the water, trying with what little strength I possessed to prevent it from turning into a rock and submerging completely. I lay on my back at the edge of the pool, my nose filling with the sharp stench of chlorine as I closed my eyes and listened for the sound of the actual water, not this imitation of glass. Past the laugh of seagulls overhead and engines of passing cars I could faintly hear it; a roar of power and invincibility. The ocean was not glass. It was restless, always moving, driven by some impulse and leaving anyone unable to keep up behind in its disastrous wake. It was reckless, never stopping to assess its actions, never planning ahead or preparing for the worst, because after all, it had nothing to fear but itself. But more than anything it was selfish, never thanking those who made an effort to protect it. It only did what it wanted to do, whenever it wanted, with no concern for those who it could and would hurt.

“Jeremy? Ready to come inside sweetie?” My insides had clenched painfully at her sweet, composed voice. Like someone trying to console a toddler who had scrapped its knee. I suppose I was her fallen toddler, but my injury went far beyond a scrapped knee. My tone was just as it had been for the past seven months; uncaring and monotone. I replied with a no, that I wanted to stay outside. The air was nice. The familiar sigh of defeat had sounded from the patio door to my left, and soon the light footsteps of my mother’s three-inch heels retreated back into the depths of our family’s “dream” two-story home on the Kauai oceanfront. If you looked at a picture of our house you would see nothing but perfection: clear skies, tropical scenery, and a beautiful white-washed beach house perched less than a mile from the crystal waves of the Pacific Ocean. What you would fail to see would be what the ocean destroyed in its mission for supremacy.

The ocean was vengeful, and I loved it. It had hurt me beyond repair, tossed me like a rag-doll into its jagged stone teeth, clamped shut all contact I had with the world beyond our sterile mansion, and yet I found that I would run away back into its cruel embrace within a heartbeat. I would never be able to swim again, taste the salty spray of the surf, or feel the tides pull anxiously at my ankles in an attempt to drag me way. The problem was that I couldn't feel my ankles. I hadn't been able too for seven months, and never would again. I loved the ocean, and like any lovesick teenager trusted it completely. I was careless and confident, always winning, always the best. I was invincible. I could control anyone or anything to my will. Now all I had control of was the upper half of my body.

I turned towards the chlorine-filled glass and listened to my ex-lover’s call of triumph. It was always meant to end like this; me trapped in a single place and forced to forever have the ocean’s taunts as my personal background music. My hand was still on the surface of our calm, family pool; the complete opposite of my conqueror. I wanted to win one last time. I wanted to be in control. In a single breath I broke that glass and proved again how the ocean and I were too much alike. We were in constant competition for dominance, and in the end only one could come out on top. I was destined to lose from the start. The jeers had stopped, I realized in the serene quiet as I lay. Rotting at the bottom where I truly belonged.