Fighting water

“Now, what did you expect? Did you expect me to save you? ‘Save’, now that is a funny word. Did you expect yourself to be ‘safe’ here?”

They were not what you expected when you imagined underwater creatures, their demeanour was less than smooth and their bodies were rugged and sharp as if they had purposefully worked themselves into the rocks rather than the continuous flow of water that surrounded them. Perhaps they had. Perhaps this was their curse. They survived in submarines and caves, creating lairs and hunting animals that belonged to these delicious depths.

These men, did not belong to life and neither did they belong to the sea, their anchors were planted in underworlds and chambers of lies. These men had lived as slave capturers, who by will of the devil’s charm and brutal force had managed to survive at the bottom of the sea. They had tried to bring themselves up to the surface by anchors of their fellow mates, but had soon found, that anchors lived in loyalty to the space it drowned in rather than wooden decks.

Anchors would not save them. Saving was for those who needed to redeem life stolen from them. These creatures believed saving was what they were owed and thus the devil surely lived in their soul.

The devil is whatever haunts you at night. The devil is what you choose not to kill. The devil does not save -the devil finds.

“Who did you grant safety too? Did they look like me?”

What do slave capturers choose deny? If you answer this question right, we will ease the pain of this new life.

They never answered the question and thus the water was what they continued to fight. Bodies that had died in chains were the wilful spirits  they continued to name the devil.  Just like their living life, they chose to follow answers that only belonged to the mind.

They slowly died inside rugged and sharp like their disguise.

Photography by Michelle Gutierrez

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