I could have died that day--drowned in the depths of this unfamiliar world--but for some unknown reason, my lungs had outlasted their capacity. Tangled in long vines of kelp, each of my limbs fought the loss of circulation while I fought to regain control. I concentrated on my limbs, focusing on each one, trying to isolate its connection to my brain. There was little chance that of all 10 limbs, none was free.
My right arm had suffered the most; it was not only entangled in the vines, but bleeding profusely. I could feel the sting of the salt as the water rubbed against my bloody skin. My left arm was cut as well, though perhaps not as deep, but awkwardly caught under the weight of my body. Then of course there were my eight legs--tentacles, perhaps was a better word... I was not yet use to this body, to the strength and weakness of each limb or how moved together. I was only aware of the weight.
The vines were wrapped tightly around most of the tentacles, I could feel the chaffing of my flesh, but I knew there had to be some way loosen their hold. So I continued the exploration of my limbs through my mind, allowing myself to connect with each nerve, hoping for a solution.
Nothing came. Just the sound of water moving past, the pain of salt and blood mixing, the sight of scattered limbs, like shadows in distorted light... I could have died there; I could have been the first casualty of the war. My eyes were closing, my conscious slipping, I could feel Death inviting me in. Like gentle hands massaging away the pain where the vines held me captive. Limb by limb the hands guided me to freedom.
As I regained my strength and dared to look into the eyes of Death, I was shocked to find a resemblance to myself--piercing blue eyes, metallic and identical to my own, eight golden tentacles and two golden arms... He was like me, I was like him, and neither of us was dead--yet.
