DP: Writing Challenge


the Devil is in the Details

The ocean. As vast as it is deep. Endless gallons of surging water with its strong currents underneath dragging our lifeless motorboat even further away from any possible civilization. The rippling surface is neither turquoise nor blue, even with the quality of the sun beating down on my wife and me; even with the blue of the skies coloring the day to otherwise perfection. The actual color, as I see it now, is deep gray; a darkness underneath that makes me nervous, a darkness underneath that makes me think of movement. The sun drags dancing eidolons to the surface, their spectral bodies wavering on the top of each wavelet, their taunting movement a gesture to join them on the river Styx.

My wife is sitting on the upper deck, reading a book, her well proportioned legs straight in front of her, covered with glittered tanning lotion. As is the entirety of her body. Her shoulder-length hair stirs in a light breeze, casting hellish reflections of its own. Her polka-dotted bikini is stretched to breaking point as her plastic curves fill the fibers, the blue strings around her neck digging into soft skin. A Barbie doll if ever you see one. Melt her and make crayons. Although she suffers under the impression of her husband being a whiz at fixing things as easily as any given time, she does not worry otherwise. The husband will get her through this ordeal on his own. She is only chiffon drapery to bare, textured windows. His terms.

The darkness underneath the surface suddenly disappears, giving way to the blue it usually is. The wife is turning a page, its words caught in the glare. She yawns and takes a sip from her Martini; chokes on an olive. The once dancing specters has floated back from whence they came, the ripples now nothing but shade. My wife staggers down the steep staircase, her gorgeously fake face expressionless and blue. The color of the water became more transparent as something beneath us gained shape, size, features, round eyes, gaping mouth, floating upwards towards us, my glinting wife nothing but oblivious in her breathless terror, rows of sharp teeth, gaining speed, ripples fell flat, my horror-stricken face, gray matter bearing upwards, monstrous nostrils flaring, bubbles oozing, the polka-dotted ovals finally snapped, the boat rocked, the boat capsiz . . .


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