The waves' surge and ebb fell in to rhythm with my heartbeat; I looked up and I knew what I had to do. Quickly I removed my clothing, everything but the pendant. Anyone who found what was left on the beach would have to think the tide had swallowed me; miraculously tore me from markings of my humble life and carelessly extinguished me like a sparkler in an Independence Day rainstorm. It was either believe that or believe what I had been trying to tell them for so long, what they had dismissed as preposterous up until this night: that I would become the ocean.
I ran into the water furiously, relying on momentum to carry me when my legs no longer could. I swam when I could no longer stand, and I floated on my back when my arms started to fade from feeling. In an hour’s time everything normal faded from feeling, but I knew what was happening. I could lift my head enough to see the pendant turn clear, and watched as it began to melt, flow back into the ocean I’d retrieved it from only weeks ago. And because I had earned its respect, I followed, the water accepting me and becoming me as my mind, my appearance and my identity diffused into a crystal-colored liquid. Then I too melted.
So anyway, Mark, Beth, that’s why I couldn’t make it to your wedding. I was the ocean. I hear it went nicely and I’m really sorry I missed it, but I mean. Come on, I was the friggin ocean. Cut me some slack. Maybe if you’d had a seaside wedding like I asked this wouldn’t have been an issue.
Also there was a doctor. I went to go see her about a week after I condensed and she said didn’t believe there were any long term negative health effects for what I went through, so if you guys want to give it a shot some time, it’s pretty damn amazing.