Blekksprut and Water

I needed to write a description for class. My favorite animal is an octopus, so I can describe it pretty well. At first, I thought I'd write about an octopus attacking a diver. When I watched videos for inspiration, I came across this one. It prompted me to write the scene below about the octopus returning to water. Pretty gross and fascinating, eh?

I also enjoyed looking up different names for the octopus. In Norwegian, the octopus is called Blekksprut. That name sounds pretty good to me, hence the title. I hope you enjoy!

Blekksprut and Water

I touch the water. As it laps my arm and weaves around my smallest suction cups, I become a bit excited. The liquid sounds the same as me now while I flick the surface. Navy wrinkles form around the tip of my tentacle with each new wave and reflect the sting of sunlight directly to my eyes. I keep stretching forward. I’m desperate.

If you follow that tentacle up, up along a slime layer becoming tacky, past wilting flower petal suction pads and a shoulder white with relaxation, you’ll find a clogged hole. It’s me of course, angry that my skin is lead over my lungs who now seem offended by air. Please come to me, fine oxygen, but I’m ignored by all but the drudgery of gravity and lack of water. Equally maddening to me, my solid skin is being tempered by the haughty sun and lukewarm water film upon the floor of this boat. I’m dying a desert death.

But keep following the red slime line of my arm. Just on the other side of the hole, you’ll notice the rest of my body. My suctions cups stick and release against the diamond textured steel like plungers, pushing me. I’m filtering through. Slowly. Squishy. Red and white.

                An unknown number of minutes ago, I wasn’t here.  I was below the boat. Calm. The sea floor felt me crawling like a breeze through your hair. Sometimes, I propelled through the turquoise waters jutted with sun rays, just enjoying myself. But they caught me in a rough-textured net and dumped me on a metal plate slicked with a sea water film. I knew I had to find the real water again.

I’m not meant to be flattened out like their snot on city sidewalks. I have no bones so water must keep my gelatinous form shapely. I need it. I want it. I smelled it.

                I slithered across their metal floor while they cackled and jived above my back. I smelt seaweed and salt wafting through a small hole, so I went for it. I’ll return to the ocean, I thought. No more scalded skin, no more soft body crushing, no more desperation for a drop back to water.

Now I’m stretching for sea spray.

Yes, I’m contorted. My legs touch my wrists while my face meets my armpits. But I have only one option. I keep seeping forward. Sliding. Inch by inch. Slowly. One tentacle submersing into sea.