17 January, 2009
The sea people
At dawn the sun god whispered through the key holes of the sea people's huts. "Carpe Diem! Never has there been a day such as this! What are you living for?"
"Well, it's not as if I've got a choice, is it?" grumbled one of them.
"Oh, you're missing the point," said another giving the grumbly one some sea cake, which the sea people breakfasted on every morning.
And without further ado, clutching their sea cake and cups of tea, the sea people rose in robes the colours of their huts. Crunching over the stones. Muttering about how they were sure this felt familiar. Perhaps they had dreamt it the night before. They made their way down to the water.
"Don't be afraid," whispered the sun god, blazing a little brighter.
Shimmying a little higher in the sky. "Come on!"
So the sea people set off over the water. At first treading carefully, so as not to put their feet through the skin of the sea. Or get thrown off balance by the swell.
And before long they were heading straight towards the sun.
"Go West," instructed the sun god. "I'll collect you after I've done my round."
So the sea people stuck their noses in the air and headed West. Through geezars of silver flying fish, mountains of hump back whales, and poems of albatrosses carried on the breeze, they walked for years, until sunset.
Then the sun god cast a golden ladder over the ocean and the sea people climbed up it, and onto the back of their beloved. And then night fell and they were never seen again. At least, not as sea people.