The Churn
The ocean’s stained-glass surface explodes against pink-flecked granite. The ocean’s rain falls, chalky remnants slowly drying on jagged rock. The ocean’s retreat swallows the rockweed glowing golden in the morning sun. The ocean’s advance scatters kelp as it rushes through an inlet. The ocean’s thunder chips away at the world. What if the ocean flowed over the Irish moss swaying in the tide pools for a final time? What if the ocean rose and came over the cliffs it could never reach? What if the ocean cascaded through the forests and churned us all into pieces of debris among the splintered remains of hemlock, spruce, and white pine, everything broken and thrown through the hills, flowing through the moss and lichens and trees, and then over the peaks that were once beyond its reach but now surround what’s left of us until we have nowhere else to go and the churn, the debris, the matter, all the things that used to be part of us, part of everything, it all just kept going—rushing over every mountain and hill and valley and then even the cities we built—all of it down to the smallest pieces of life, the smallest proof we were here, everything churned together. What if the ocean churned until everything was gone? Until we were forgotten. Until nothing like us was in the ocean’s memory. Until nothing like us was in any memory. Until something else could be born. Until new creatures had to emerge and once again find their way in a new world. Until something that had never existed had to exist once more.
Brenden Layte
Brenden Layte is a writer, linguist, and editor of educational materials. His work has previously appeared in places like X-R-A-Y, Lost Balloon, and Pithead Chapel. He also won The Forge Literary Magazine’s 2021 Flash Fiction Contest. Brenden is on Bluesky at @brenden.bsky.social and X at @b_layted.
More: https://bsky.app/profile/brenden.bsky.social
Comments
At times I wish the ocean could rise and erase all, leaving a fresh world for a fresh start. Nicely done, thank you Brenden.
Really nice. I love the ocean being brought to one of its opposites, the forests, and the lovely paradox of the last line.