Dreaming Of Her

I sit on a blanket of water, each droplet an individual blade, held flat on it’s side and reflecting the light purposefully into my eyes. Each wave that rises threatens me with knife edges, wanting to create a road map on my skin. But I am safe, in a boat that is made solely of rubber, with soft round edges, an inflated ring with a floor to hold it in place.
I sit on the edge looking out at the painted sky that flickers, but seems to me like a Picasso painting. Each brush stroke upon the sky is more vivid than the last: bright pinks, purples, deep blues, oranges, reds, yellows, greens and whites.
There is a bundle of a person sat besides me, and I have covered her with blankets to shield her from the fear. I can feel her tears, her small form shaking so violently, that I hold her tighter. I know that this bundle of blankets and rags is my sister. And try as I might, I cannot stop her crying. Loud wails escape from the form, and I try harder to comfort her, but no noise escapes me.
Beneath the blades I see large gliding forms, with the large fin on it’s back that can only mean one thing. The more I look around me the more I can see the elegant monsters moving about my small ship.
The sky turns darker, and the colours dim, changing like a kaleidoscope into a new pattern of warnings and fear. I know they want only one of us. I know they will be satisfied with one. So I stand up, pushing my sister’s desperate grasp away from me. I stand on the rim, which is cold like bricks beneath my bare feet. I let the tears fall as I leap through each blade and into the cold murkiness that is the sea. But all I see is the bright blue light of Picasso’s sky above me.