sea, a dream that always returns

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I am at the beach, diving under the waves, my hair is washed by the ocean foam. The beach is familiar to me. There are other people playing in the sea. The waves get bigger and I enjoy the danger. I throw my own body against the current with my chest wild open. I let the waves broke on my back, on my head.

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Suddenly the sea raises and I get small. The courage lefts me behind. I run away with all my strength to the dry sand, but the tide pushes me back. I climb the sand mountains to escape from the violent water. I climb to the top of the beach, near a tree, but the waves raise once more and reach my foot. The waves are monstrous, enormous, they can swallow an entire city. I run away, calling my parents in vain. Nobody sees the danger. Only I can see that the ocean will destroy everything.

 

I run in the sand streets, passing by tiny houses that serve food. I hide myself in a house. My parents are cooking, the pressure cooker whistle. The walls are dirty and grimy. I try to alert them of the danger, but they don’t hear me. A wave goes over the house and I can see by the window glass the violent current. The water drops from the roof. My parents don’t care about anything.

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Now I am on a ship with them. We are having dinner in a tiny table. There are a lot of families around the corridor. Everything reminds me of one of those westerns’ trains in the old American movies. We are all underneath the water, but everything seems to be normal. I hold the table so it can’t float. My lips freeze and I can’t stop talking. My parent’s lips get white too. I can’t understand what they are talking. The current gently moves my mother’s hair. From the ship window, I see the oceans mountains getting bigger and bigger as we sink. I can’t see neither the bottom of the sea, neither the surface of the water.