He finished his book, watched the moon glow red on the day. With closed eyes, he inhaled … as if in a dream. A flash, then he falls away.
Into the deep, his arms like tentacles flap as if he’s waving goodbye. There’s panic, an unheard scream, bubbles bursting towards the sky.
Down in the grime the muck and the slime beside the hull of an upturned boat, Protrude oars, like arms reaching out … as if to get ahold of his throat.
An eel comes to look at the boy with a book, who into the water was spilt.Who struggles and fights, his legs disturbing the silt.
Deep he plunges, the light disappears in a mist. Like angelic detritus he floats, intoxicated with heavenly bliss.
The dark clears, a nymph beckons with barely a flick of her wrist. A wisp of a thing lures him deep. Her face he tenderly kissed.
He’s now way below,
ebb and flow.
This re worked piece gets a second chance as I attempt to capture something new.
Did my foray into fantasy work? Answers will be most welcome *waves*