Descent-silently loud
The built up asphyxiation resounds death, reinforced by the popping eardrums while he descends. The waters murky, undercurrent strong, swirling him down in acrobatic motions choreographed by the force of nature- like a ballet dancing cat trained by the Russian Vaganova Academy experimenting with the torque of nature. As lightening as the notes of Chopin, his body gracefully cleaves through the voids of uncountable streams of current, at times leafs harmonically about the moment from omnipresent actions and reactions from his dance which spirals downward.
Except that he is a drowning cat. In this case, it is one creaking and clawing aimlessly with its back arched and hair erected like a tight-balling porcupine. Feeling intensely apprehensive like a circus cat trying to perform the balancing act on a tight rope slowly eaten by fire, he screeches to vent out the exploding pressure. No! I will survive! Clenching his fists, he bites his own teeth with every strand of force that he could muster, as if there is a lock in between his jaws which stands in the way to ignite his mitochondria. He needs energy to fight. True that. He feels like a ball of fire right after he is rejoiced with life in his mouth, in the form of warm bitter-salty liquid. A supercat dressed in fire is ready to fight against fire- one that is eating up the rope tantamount to its lifeline. He bawls, seemingly thunderously, admonishing his opponents of his determination.
Except that he is fighting nature. The murky waters remain plumbed with coldness, despite a small patch of warm body of liquid surrounding his mouth. His screams silenced. Admonition mocked. Determination ridiculed. No! I will survive! Yup we get it- a drowning cat purring to flirt with the waters, current, and death! Dogged determination is not for cats. In the eyes of the world, his forceful gestures, revved up by burning mitochondria and fuelled by his torrid spirit, are as soft as silk, and as obedient as slipping silk is to its master by the name of gravity. His body is ironically as elegant as jellyfish drifting in the ocean. A supercat in a ball of fire is only imaginary. It is still walking on a burning rope, with unbearable weight to balance, wearing a ridiculous makeup of a clown. Time is still not any kinder. He is still a ballet dancing cat entrapped in the torque of nature. Eardrums no longer transmit any vibrations, but only warmth. He has even lost his sense of vertigo- probably the only sense left in the heart of a body of waters. This has got to be the end- of sense, sentiment and significance! His last thought barely escapes the eventual obedience to the current, waters and death.
Except that it is warmer than he thought. In the depth of overwhelming nature where all sense, sentiment and significance are crowded out, he feels a stint of familiarity, and warmth. This familiarity predates any senses, sentiments and significance of his being. In the abyss of the murky waters, he feels warmth, light and clarity.
