When the water comes...
The wave was 10 times bigger than me. The soft sand underneath my feet felt like a quickly forgotten sensation before the water hit me. I was dragged by its enormous power: First upwards, then spiraling, turning my body around and around until I would not know where the surface of the world, where breathable air might be. Then, just by chance, my head would burst out of the wave, I was at its top, moving with my legs and arms wildly, as my survival instinct kept me above to breath... to breath, to breath. While my bodily strength had already taken a toll my wild movements remained still somewhat slow. But I had survived.
So I thought. In the distance another wave moved slowly from another direction, but towards me. Its massive shape was of a dark, dark blue. A wall of water. A barrier to overcome. And so I did overcome this even higher wave. Reaching its top the wave lost its strength and again I was released towards the soft, soft sand strand of another isle. There I would lie for a moment, my body and clothes wet from the water, the drops trickling into the ground. Slowly I dried and freezing to a reasonable degree my body quivered without end. It was not a sunny day. It was nearly dark and night already. I rose up, just to sit. The sea, in the dim light of the distant stars was calm now. The surface was plane as if no danger had ever existed.
I would need to recover, I would need to prepare and so I did. My bodily strength and my senses would return better. The meaning of life I chose to live for was more clear after this experience, especially after the overcoming of the second wave.
...
If it had been a natural disaster I might have chosen a different path. But anger burned within the heavy sadness I felt, anger at a human made catastrophe. Somewhere.... Some place far away, they had planned to drown me in the sea. But they never would. They never could.
What they might have been able to, was to feed a hateful anger, an undesirable disbelieve in human error. Unlovingly, destructing anything of worth, thinking rationally but not with a heart at all. They could have chosen a different path, they did not. They could have looked deep inside their hearts, they did not. Maybe they feared. They feared to feel what a human feels, when s*he realizes the wrong in his_her deeds. First the sympathy, then the hurt, overwritten by their own shame. Being so afraid of seeing the truth they would become nothing but shells. Working shells hungry for praise.
