Picture this, if you will.
I'm on a boat.
A big one with lots of cool stuff.
Suddenly!
*gasp*
A storm!
The brilliant blue sky is darkened in minutes.
The waves, in turn, appear sinister.
The crew is scrambling.
I stand in the middle, obviously in the way.
Then.
Out of nowhere comes the hugest wave any of us has ever seen
(think 'Perfect Storm' huge).
It rises.
Rises.
RISES out of the rest of the sea.
We travel swiftly into the valley that the monstrous wave has drained.
Higher.
Higher!
HIGHER it rises until we can't remember a time before the wave.
Slow motion.
I t b e g i n s t o d e s c e n d . . .
Panic!
No time.
I am washed out to sea.
As suddenly as it comes, the storm passes as if it never occurred.
My overboard body is the only consequence left in its wake.
The sides are high.
There is no ladder.
Panic.
I cannot get back to where I was before.
I tread water.
First with only my feet, then with only my hands.
Trying to conserve energy.
Lasting only seconds.
Failing miserably.
A streak of colour!
A plop into the ocean beside my head.
A life preserver.
Or so it tells me.
I stare at it, conversing with myself about the pros and cons of grabbing the red and white tube.
I want to trust it.
I want to believe it won't leave me stranded, worse off than before.
But what if it's lying?
What if the moment I grab on and stop swimming, it drops me like a rock?
Paranoid.
Or possibly just safe.
The water is freezing my fingers.
My toes are numb.
My mind is not what it should be.
A moment of clarity!
(I hope).
I tell it to go back.
I beg it to leave me alone.
I remain treading water, losing strength and energy by the second.
But I need it to prove it is telling the truth.
I may drown in the waiting.
