monsters from the deep
My biggest fear—even greater than my dread of boredom, success, or being nibbled to death by rabbits—is of being underwater and encountering large aquatic creatures.
My fear isn't confined to being attacked by such sea-beasts. Rather, I'm terrified merely by the thought of sharing the same space with them. I'm scared of opening my eyes and seeing the gentle manatee and the noble dolphin. In fact, I'd involuntarily empty my bowels at the sight of anything bigger than a medium-sized trout.
I would rather be stranded on Pluto than plunged fifty feet beneath water. Dark, deep, horrible sea. Murky muted underworld from which our amphibian ancestors slithered millions of years ago. Lair of the hundred-foot Megalodon, the plesiosaur, Leviathan, and otherwordly organisms which scuttle the ocean floor and never see light.
Swimming underwater in a Vermont lake as a kid, I opened my eyes and looked beneath me. Down through the air bubbles and blurry greenish muck, I saw a dark blob the size of a tool shed. I thought I saw it move. Feeling the silent panic one only feels when submerged in water, I shot toward the surface and yanked myself up onto the dock.
Sweet terra firma. A landlubber I'll always be.
