Winner of the GDST Creative Writing Competition
LKA
Sometimes I dream that our planet used to be much bigger than it is now. I dream of vast expanses of water to glide through freely. I can see it so clearly; gloriously blue in its endless enormity. The ecstasy that permeates my entire being as the water slides over my fins and across my back feels all too real to simply be a figment of my imagination; it’s no surprise that I often confuse it for a memory. What’s puzzling, is that in the dream, I feel that I am there, wholly, authentically, and free of burden. However, when I wake, I’m back here, clasped in the tight embrace of darkness and hostility.
Our planet is confusing because there are so many rules that I don’t understand yet still follow in fear of not getting fed. I do flips and tricks merely for the entertainment of people who stare and gasp while they clap away incessantly. I don’t particularly find performing all that fun, but it’s the only time they let me out of my tank and away from the others, and anywhere has to be better than in there. At this moment, I am following the signals and commands of the lady above the surface. I feel uneasy because I’ve never seen her before and I can’t quite understand what she’s doing with her arms. I am however, aware that she’s not pleased with me; I certainly have not been performing very well for the past ten minutes, but also, she’s stopped giving me fish. My body aches and I really just want to rest, but she seems to be getting more and more irritated with me which only heightens my anxiety, but I am too tired. I’m not as naïve as I once was; I’ve been doing this long enough to know what it means when I don’t put on a good show.
It’s frightening because, no matter how much I concentrate all my focus into performing, nor how much I dread it and will it to go away, the time to be herded back into that pool never fails to arrive. This time is no different, it sneaks up on me and extricates a sickening desire to be separated from the body I so unfortunately inhabit. For those of you that aren’t aware, failing to perform means that I have simultaneously failed to earn dinner for both myself and my tankmates, and orcas tend to get angry when they don’t eat.
Dissimilar to the way that the water in my dreams is cold, the tank is a black bath of icy stillness, barren of all but fear. Its darkest, most heinous attribute is its loneliness, and the isolation only becomes more asphyxiating as I know it won’t be long until the others come and find me. The gate to the tank slams shut from behind me and all I can do is close my eyes in submission to the series of events that are inevitably about to proceed. If only for a moment, a stifling wave of silence surrounds me before, like a recurring nightmare, the swift sound of slicing fins and tails soon infiltrates my space. The water around me pulses heartily from the force of their arrival and I suddenly feel far smaller than before. Their presence is chilling, it shakes me, and I know that I am no longer the only whale in the tank.
They circle me a few moments more as if to deliberate my attack. I, like all the times before, foolishly mistake this for hesitation, allowing myself to feel a shred of hope that I might, just this once, be left unharmed. My misapprehension is shortly interrupted when I feel the full-body force of one of the whales barrel into my side. I don’t feel the pain right away; it’s only when she has circled back and collided into me for the second time, that the dam breaks. An inexplicable pain pervades from the point of contact, right along what feels like every nerve in my system. A wave of dizziness rushes over me as tiny black spots momentarily pepper my vision, but they clear just in time to catch sight of the unmistakeable black and white frame charging straight at me, large mouth agape and teeth bared. The lash is sharp and instantly painful, but before I can plan my escape, both whales are working at thrice the speed, attacking me from all directions. The rake marks that now certainly garnish my skin, seem to become both longer and deeper with each vicious attack, and it is only when I see how the water around me has been invaded by a lingering crimson cloud, that I recognise my own helplessness. I know these whales; they are two females, Katina and Nalani, neither bigger than me but both older and far more vengeful, and I have lived with them for what feels like a very long time. Although this does not make them hate me any less, I do not think it is their fault. They may look the same as me in their deep ebony coat painted in stripes of white, but they do not come from where I dream about – where I know I came from – and they do not speak my language.
The slashing, raking and bruising continues. It is no less painful, but I hold onto the hope that they will eventually grow tired themselves and leave me be. I am sullen and exhausted, and it is in moments such as these that I realign my imagination with the ocean of my dreams. It is unknown to me yet feels inexplicably familiar with the light perfectly gracing the surface and my family calling to me. In reality, I feel one last jab to my side before they are gone. They will come again tomorrow, I am sure of it, but for now I shall sleep in captivity and dream of home.
