Atlántida
Fantastic short fiction: He followed a calling he had carried all his life.
“The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.”
Jacques Cousteau
I’ve always thought I was meant for great things. It was an inner feeling, like the effervescence in my stomach after a tasty fizzy drink, and I knew it was authentic.
Yet, when I reached my fifties and found myself stuck in a 9-to-5 desk job, with a wife and children born out of societal pressure, all sharing the same sense of apparent mediocrity as I did, I realized I could no longer endure the torturous contrast between my external life and my inner reality.
One evening, I slipped out of my house, crossed the beach, and climbed the high cluster of rocks that marked the edge of our Mediterranean bay. I stared down at the deep, dark water beneath me. There was no wind, and the surface was as still and smooth as a piece of sheet metal. I had the feeling that if I jumped, it wouldn’t drown me, but would cut me in two.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and splashed in.
Despite the hot summer weather, the water was cold, and my first thought was, I don’t want to die freezing, but this quickly disappeared as my survival instinct kicked in. I didn’t know how to swim, but my arms and legs thrashed desperately, trying to stay on the surface as long as possible, trying to reach a protruding edge of a rock that didn’t exist. The stone wall was as smooth as the water. When my body finally lost strength and coordination and sank, I realized I had been insane to want to die, but it was too late.
I sank for what felt like ages until I reached the sandy bottom. I was surprised to find myself still somehow alive when the soles of my feet touched the soft sand, which gave way with a thud that shook my entire body. I stood upright, gazing at a maze of green, brown, and violet seaweeds and hordes of small fish meandering through its tunnels. Now and then, a jellyfish or a small squid would stir the tangle of plants with its tentacles, making me flinch. I wondered how I was able to watch this spectacle after being underwater for over ten minutes.
Maybe I’m already dead?
“No, you’re not!” a voice called out from behind me, and I whirled around. A tall man stood there, big and muscular, with green skin that glimmered slightly. He wore a long robe woven from what looked suspiciously like seaweed, and his long red hair was braided.
The man was smiling.
“One night, many years ago, when you were young, we broke into your house, sedated you, and transplanted artificial gills into your body,” the man said. “We knew that, at some point in your life, you would be compelled to come down here. You’ve felt this call all your life, haven’t you? The effervescence in your stomach?”
“Oh, yes!” I nodded emphatically. Suddenly, everything fell into place. I wasn’t suicidal — never had been. The reason for performing such a horrifying act could only be because it wasn’t suicide at all.
“Will you come with me?” the man asked, holding out a hand. “We’re having our annual gathering today. I need to introduce you to the others.”
“Sure!” I realized my voice came out like a dull cannon thunder. I noticed that my nose wasn’t taking in air and my chest wasn’t moving, but I didn’t feel suffocated. My cells were getting all the oxygen they needed.
“It’s weird, I know,” the man said. “But very efficient. Come, we’re running late.”
We passed through forests of multicolored seaweed, and I felt the slick bodies of sea animals rubbing against my skin more than a few times until we reached an underwater cave. The man led me through a dark opening, and we walked down a narrow black tunnel lit by small pink dots stuck to the walls, which, as the man explained, were a kind of glittering sea worm.
Finally, the tunnel ended, and we entered a large, round hall. There was no water here, and my mouth immediately opened wide to gulp in the air, my lungs painfully expanding to take it in. I cried out and coughed, doubling over.
“You’re changing to land breathing,” the man said, patting my shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
After a couple of minutes, the pain subsided, and my breathing steadied enough for me to follow the man toward the center of the hall. There was a long wooden table, lit by round chandeliers and laden with food and drinks.
There were about fifty men and women gathered around the table, all looking at me cordially. I recognized most of the world’s political leaders and prominent representatives of the media, scientific, and humanitarian communities. There were also some people I didn’t know, but they were dressed as poshly as the rest and appeared just as important.
“This is Atlántida,” the man said, raising his arms to encompass the hall and all the exits leading to unknown tunnels and places. “The hidden city that has ruled the earth for as long as humanity has existed. I’m Thalassor, the king of Atlántida, and these people here,” he gestured toward the table, “are my allies. I don’t choose them; they choose me. When they feel the calling, I feel it too. And I prepare them for their life mission.”
“And that mission is…?” I muttered, staring at the familiar faces of world celebrities.
“To keep humanity from destroying itself, of course!” Thalassor’s smile turned into a burst of loud laughter as he added, “As you might guess, more often than not, the goal of saving that pathetic species is achieved by destroying part of it!”
Some figures at the table joined in Thalassor’s laughter, but I didn’t. I only allowed a big, fake smile to split my face in two.
When I was invited to take my seat, I wondered if I might be the first secret agent spying on behalf of humanity at this table.
Loved the emotion in this story? Here are more thrills for your soul:
The Letters That Were Never Sent
Humanity’s greatest talent has always been destruction, fueled by a misplaced sense of superiority over the rest of the planet. But what happens when the destroyers need to be saved?
The story is really fantastic Nevena.
Though the abrupt ending left me a little disappointed, but I think those who love fiction and fantasy can create their own ending. If anytime you write the second part, I’d love to read it.