Whale Song - A Surrealist Story Inspired by a Dream

The city looks small from far away, reduced to a ghost by several layers of fog and mist as you peer back at it. The streets feels empty and quiet from here. The buildings look lonely against the gray, cloudy sky, but also wise and eternal like trees in a forest made of metal. You rest a mile out from shore, bobbing in the choppy waves without a boat or life jacket, calmly treading water. Although you are out of place here, there is no fear of drowning. You notice that your perspective is reversed. In the past, it was the waves that seemed distant and abstract, while the sand under your feet was immediate and discernable. However, now it is the opposite. It is the waves that now hold substance. The city and the soggy sand now seem like foreign places only inhabited in dreams. A silky, uncrested wave slides past you and propels your body into the air so that for a moment you feel weightless, happy, and tall as a skyscraper. You get a good view of the city before rolling back down to sea level. Then, the water becomes calm and flat. You playfully spin yourself around with your legs, and a genuine laugh escapes from your lungs, private and non performative because there is no one around to impress.

You continue to ride the waves over and over while the water rolls past you. Eventually, a wave appears that is far bigger than the rest. It moves on its own accord as if it were a living creature of the sea. The enormous wall of rising water blocks out the sky so that the city disappears completely. Still you are not scared. Instead, you welcome this wave as if it’s what you’ve been waiting for this entire time. It seems to be looking down at you as it begins to crest, so you greet it politely with a slight downward tilt of the chin. It envelopes your body pushing you down deep underwater where everything is cobalt blue, nothing but water in sight. This feels wrong, so you swim back to the surface. When you emerge, the city is gone, replaced by a small, rocky island nearby. You paddle over to find a single paddle boat tethered to a stick in the sand that looks rudimentary compared to the impressive buildings of the city. The vessel is nothing more than a wooden frame and two planks of wood for the seats. From the water, you slide the palm of your hand along its hull and feel the roughness of the wood catch on your skin. You do not get into the boat, nor do you climb onto the beach. Instead, you dive underwater.

Attached to the underbelly of the boat is a long metal pipe that bends and twists at odd angles. Along its length you follow it deep down into the depths of the ocean where it connects to a stone castle long abandoned on the ocean floor, a lonely place turning green with algae. You slip through a crack in the structure and see that the architecture is industrial like a spaceship or a submarine. The floors are made of metal grates, and the walls remain bare gray concrete. It is peaceful here and fills your mind with thoughts of liminal space and nothingness. There are no rooms, only hallways with great floor to ceiling windows that open into oceanic courtyards accessible by its many creatures. You swim to one of these viewing stations and look out. There is sand and seaweed and an unending blueness so vast you begin to lose yourself, unable to take your gaze away from its pull.

Suddenly, a massive humpback whale enters the enclosure. At first it seems small against that vastness. Then, it grows bigger and bigger. It comes closer until its wide eye is on you, inches from the glass. It examines you with observational curiosity, watching you just as intently as you are watching it. The animal’s skin is encrusted in ridges and cracks like a topographical depiction of another world's highest mountains and most secret, hidden valleys. A garden of barnacles blooms on its fin. The two of you sit there for a moment in each other's company. Eventually, the whale blinks and swims away.

You continue swimming down the hallway, alone for only a moment. The water begins to turn blurry in one small area in the shape of a human swaying back and forth. You feel them observing you just as the humpback was. As you pass their way, the shadow begins mimicking your movements. They block your path as you try to go around them. The two of you dance together as you test their devotion to copying you. You are happy to have some company and embrace the spirit as a friend.

“This is the terrarium,” they say. “Long ago, humans roamed these halls. They would watch the whales and fishes swim about, faces pressed up against the glass like barnacles. But really it was the sea creatures who were the true spectators of the humans. This terrarium was for them. One day, the walls cracked and the water came in and the people left. I am all that’s left.”

After hearing this, you decide you don't want to be underwater anymore. You feel lonely and miss your own kind, the freshness of oxygen. You embrace the water ghost. Their incorporeal body is cold. They smile as you swim away, but you feel a deep aching pain in your chest. You are sure that the ghost feels it too. They become smaller and smaller until they disappear completely. Before you reach the surface, the humpback whale swims up to you from below. Its nose nudges the bottom of your foot, pushing you faster than you have ever moved before. Water gushes past your ears and pulls your eyelids shut. A playful string of whale song bellows from its stomach. You burst from the water and land softly in the boat from before, still tied to the island. The humpback’s great eye gives you one last look, then slides into the darkness below. Its boomerang tale waves goodbye before splashing out of sight. You stay above water and begin to head back towards the city skyline. As you drive, you notice the air smells sweeter.