T H E T U S C A R O R A R E V I E W 2 0 2 3 2 1 The Deep Calls C A L V I N M A N D E S The surface of the shallow ocean already several meters behind him, he swam languidly downwards, his calm but powerful kicks sending him deeper into the clear blue waters—a rarity, as this spot was almost always clouded and obscured. He descended in a gentle incline, admiring the beautiful, desolate vastness of the ocean, feeling the serene yet powerful currents wrap around him, hearing nothing but the faint thrumming of the surface and the sound of his pulse. There was something entrancing about the ocean: An almost yearning to never leave, to stay and wallow in the drifting sense of distance that pervaded the watery body. It was in the way the world fell away, leaving only mind, body, and the water. He dove down further, the thrumming ocean surface fading, the water seeming to swallow him in its endless reach. The ocean floor was barely visible from his current depth, but it became sharper as he swam closer; the shroud of shadows and murk grew thicker, but darts of light still shone down, illuminating the vague shape of the water and the sand beneath him. He was nearing the maximum safe distance for diving, the ocean floor beneath him driving downwards to ever greater depths. The sun had, almost in a singular instance, winked out, and his headlamp took over the job of guiding him through the vast pitch. The floor of the ocean was covered in rippled sand, rock, and the rare oddity—a can or a chunk of metal. In the distance, he could see the floor drop off, a pit of black in the dark tan sands and the dim green water. He kept going, swimming deeper, and found himself hanging over the drop, staring down a deep abyss. He stopped, resting in place. Hanging suspended in the water, staring into the lightless drop, he felt something on the metaphoric tip of his tongue; a sensation that there was something that he should be doing but wasn’t.
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