Jump!

I'm on a ship and I can see something on the horizon, but can't figure out what it is. Suddenly, there's this craving to approach it and I mutter under my breath. I continue to stare and hope lazily that my ship would accelarate and catch up. The fog is building up and the object of desire is fading like a ghost, teasing and challenging me to jump off and try swimming towards it; a task that appears to spell doom, intimidating me with the vicious depths of the ocean.


It feels good to be on board, with all the luxuries my friends might envy me for. I feel lucky to be here, but now, deprived, of not possessing that, what I see glimmering on the horizon. This is the very purpose of the human, to remain unsatisfied with what has been acquired, and go for that ellusive glimmer.


I look back and glance at the crew. They're growing fat and are sprawled out all over the deck, complaining about how blue the sky is or how watery the ocean is. I'm getting sick of it. I look down, ashamed at myself. I take off my jacket. I scramble onto the hull and take one hard look at the glimmer. I lean forward.