The Green Ocean

When I got here, the sky was sometimes black and sometimes white, but the sun never rose. It does now, but what it does next is different every time. Once, it rose when the light started and started following a straight line across the sky, the way it does in the real world, but before it was halfway up, it slipped and fell off the side of its arc, and the sky was empty for the rest of the day. Sometimes the sun barely wobbles over the horizon; sometimes it clings to it like a bubble. Sometimes it comes up at night and burns a hole in the black sky.

The ground is covered in green water that comes up to the bottom hem of my jeans, no matter how far I walk. I took off my shoes and it feels like I’m standing on concrete, but when I look down at night, I can see what looks like stars. Static buzzes across the backs of my eyes when I try to look straight at the ground. It’s easier to look at the water, which is as smooth as glass except for the ripples spreading out from me.

Sometimes I wonder how old I am now. I’ve been conscious since I got here, so mentally at least, I’m aging fifty percent faster than I would have in the real world. When I touch my face, it feels different than it used to, but I can’t see my reflection in the water and there isn’t anyone around to ask. No one might ever see my new face.