Devolver

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I don’t want to open my eyes.

I’m rocking. I’m on a boat again. Crap!

“There she is!”

I sit up. It’s not a real big boat. It’s kind of like a really large canoe with sails.

Three men are looking out over the water at something. I don’t see anything. In fact as I look about I can’t see anything at all except water in every direction. The Sun is low in the sky, but is it morning or evening?

“Man, look at this! She’s for real!” one of the men calls to me. They know me despite my never having seen them before.

The three of them are battling for turns with the spyglass as I reach the edge of the ship.

“We’ve gotta snag ‘er!” one of them insists.

“You’ll curse us all if you do!” argued another, passing the spyglass to me. “Take a gander!”

It takes some effort before I’m able to make out a long-haired woman on the water. She seems to be kneeling on something but I see nothing solid underneath her.

“Is she sitting on top of a wreck?” I ask. “Must be shallow over there…”

“That’s Ga Pa Vatten!” one of the men declares, like I should know who or what that is.

Ga Pa Vatten

I play along. “Ohhh! So that’s…that’s actually…okay!” I hand the spyglass over.

“Let’s get her!” yells the man behind the steering wheel, turning frantically as the sails billow.

When the woman notices our vessel approaching she stands.

There’s something familiar about her. I ask for the spyglass and take a closer look now that she’s up. What’s going on here?

I know her, but how?

This context isn’t right, but she’s someone I’ve been close to…

Ekhazimulayo rapidly reverses evolution in individuals and environments with a spray of  lipoprotein-photons from his palms that infuse a change of orders to cell nuclei.

In the regular course of events living cells build upon stored information, attempting to modify order.

When Ekhazimulayo strikes, cells stop building new pathways and desperately start reverting to previous forms at spectacular accelerations in a reverse of evolution…

…When some had abilities that no one dreams of today.

“She’s gesturin’ to the north,” the man with the spyglass reports.

“Look! There she goes!” cries another. “She’s walkin’ across the water!”

Not easy to tell if she’s moving, but her legs do appear to be walking. Major strangeness. And why do I know her?

“There’s a swell!” shouts the third man, pointing anxiously to a growing bulge atop the surface. “It’s growin’ into a wave in her direction!”

“Damned sea-witch!” swears the superstitious sailor. “Stay away from her or we’ll go down sure as Satan!”

“Now she’s runnin’!” shouts the man at the wheel. “She’s tryin’ to run to where the wave is headed!”

We watch as the wave picks her up and she surfs on bare feet away from us with great speed.

“Fuck the sails and fire up the engine!” orders the Captain. “We’re gonna catch that fine fishie!”

She continues away from us riding a standing wave with complete ease. But she can’t match the speed of our vessel as we close distance.

“What is she doing out here?” I ask.

“Ya haven’t heard the ballad?” laughs the Captain. “She lives on the ocean if you trust the legend. Fishermen and cargo ships ‘ave reported weirdish sightings far out at sea for years now, a woman who walks and lives on the surface of water!”

“That’s crazy!” I blurt. “What does she do in a storm?”

The superstitious one seems to have the details: “She conjures up a reddish rainbow that wards off all storms, and sends them in the direction of her enemies!”

“What about the Sun?” I ask. “Why doesn’t it burn her mercilessly?”

“Her skin ain’t like yours and mine,” the Captain winks. Immunity to solar radiation and saltwater abrasion? Is that biologically possible? I suppose, maybe…

When Ekhazimulayo unleashes, organic cell walls within a 444-foot radius roll backwards in just seconds.

Homo sapiens becomes Homo erectus. Whales become durodons.

We’re closing in when she turns to look at us. Seeing her face this close jars my memory. It’s yet another one of my ex-girlfriends, Pat Vanaget, completely out of context. What the hell…?

She gestures and our boat rises until we’re gazing into the sky. I hear men scream as we flip over spilling everything on the deck into the sea. I scream, too.

Yet it’s almost as if it’s happening to someone else as I sink into the abyss. I can’t really die, can I?

Is that the horrible secret that our brains hide from us so that we’ll value the present moment? I feel no sense of “now” any more…

Death is a trick played on us by ourselves!

I suddenly don’t want to drown. I stroke until I bob into the surface and grab air. I start to sink again, weak from fear, when someone grabs my wrist. My hand is directed into an ankle, which I grasp. Blinking through sea water pouring from my head I see the ankle and the foot floating solidly on the water, slightly dipped by my weight. The leg is Pat’s, or whoever this thing is.

The skin I’m feeling isn’t like ours at all. She feels so light that I can almost lift her from the water while I’m treading. She’s less dense than balsa wood and completely waterproof!

“Pat?” I manage to ask. Blank eyes stare down at me. She turns to see another boat approaching. She looks back down at me, expressionless.

When she knows the men on the boat have spotted me, she shakes my hands loose from her ankle and summons another wave to transport her away at high speed. Is this a form of hydro-magnetic water control that pushes or pulls vast volumes of H2O?

The other three have drowned. The new arrivals bring me aboard but don’t know me any more than I know them. “Ga Pa Vatten” speeds away to the horizon on a gigantic wave, a wave huge enough to raise anguish in the crew, discouraging pursuit. They turn to me for the full story of my encounter, and as I share the tale I gather information from them as well.

Land plants become cooksonia. Horses shrink. Rats grow.

The process stops, returning effected areas and beings to “normal” in 31 hours, though no one realizes this will happen during the panic.

Once re-normalized, biology cannot be reversed again and Ekhazimulayo is ineffective against those targets in the future.

“She can see beneath the waves for hundreds of fathoms,” an old salt tells me. Sonar retina?

“To sleep, she rests upon the gentling waves emanating from her sleepy brain,” reveals another crewman.

“She has hair that’s a living whip,” declares another, “that’ll hit ya wit’ deadly farce!”

“She’s lives drinkin’ nothin’ but seawater,” says a believer.

 

She’s a side-effect of an unholy power used to pervert the work of nature.

Who…or what…is Ekhazimulayo?

 

 

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