I stand upon the shore, sweltering in the heat of a sun that offers no relief, looking out toward the ocean. It is a familiar place, the salty scent hinting of times long gone. It is cool and inviting, my being called out to waters I once navigated with ease as a boy, though now I am terrified, for I know what happens to those who turn their backs on the sea. But the waves beckon endlessly, like hands that seek to pull me into the embrace of an old and comforting memory, a siren's song luring me blissfully toward doom. Hesitantly, I take a step, and as the waves break upon the shore, the sea foam curls around my feet, hinting at refreshment and promising succor from the blazing sun above. More eager now, I move closer, step after step until the water licks seductively at my calves. The ocean spray mists my body, teasing my senses with its welcomingly crisp request. I am invigorated by it, given solace from the heat that batters from on high, and I am witlessly drawn to plunge into that which I fear most. Head first, I dive into liberation from the relentless, charring burn, the water enveloping me like a mother's arms as she comforts her child. I am suddenly flooded, and I begin to remember why I dread the sea. Turning back, I rush toward the shore, but I am too late. I have gone too deep and there is no more escape. The tide pulls me away from the rough sand and familiar sear of disregard, dragging me further out past the buoys where one shouldn't swim. Struggling, I fight against the inescapable pull, and only grow weaker by the second, no closer to shore. As strength leaves my body, the once revitalizingly cool ocean becomes cold, self-deception cast away now that I am in its grasp. My head is underwater, and I reach feebly for the surface, needing to see the sun once more, but the salt stings my eyes and I can no longer tell which way is up. I scream my last breath for help, but my open mouth only invites the rushing ocean in
my lungs full of water, there is nothing left but suffocation. The ebb and flow of the waves carry me back and forth from empty to overfull with no pause between, my body limp and helpless against the primeval power of nature unleashed. Rip currents tear me in half, each broken piece left in pelagic disarray to descend lifelessly past the abyssal depths and into the deep dark of its trenches. Sea green becomes darkest blue, and blue turns to coldest black as I slip away. I was a fool to think I could control the ocean.

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Miraman, in the year 959 AF.