Control
Escape traps and sharks, go through sewers, go back to the ocean and be free.
c
The glass walls trembled as the aquarium’s filter sputtered its last breath. A flick of silver—barely noticeable—darted past the crumbling coral. The crack near the drainage pipe hadn’t existed yesterday, but tonight, it yawned wide enough to slip through. Shadows swallowed the flicker of scales as the fish plunged into the labyrinth below, navigating pipes slick with algae and the sour tang of human neglect. Sewer currents clawed at its fins, twisting the creature through frothing rapids of waste and forgotten debris. Glowing symbols etched into the tunnel walls pulsed like predatory eyes—wards meant to trap wayward souls. It wove through jagged metal teeth of a broken grate, memories of saltwater guiding each desperate twist. A final surge flung it into the mouth of a storm drain, where moonlight fractured on oily puddles. The sea roared beyond the concrete shore, waves crashing against man-made cliffs. Gills flared, tasting the faintest trace of brine beneath diesel fumes. It leapt—not gracefully, but with a thrashing, primal fury—arc after desperate arc, until the last bound breached the harbor’s edge. Currents, ancient and hungry, swept it home. The deep hummed a thousand voices, sharpening its scars into maps. Freedom, it turned out, smelled like hunger. Like survival. Like the open dark.
