Ten Billion Sushi Dinners
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The waters part around me, as I wander through the ocean.

The sea is vast to many, and I am no exception. All my life I have lived in it, and so much is still unknown. It is a pity my duties makes it so I cannot spend more time exploring the depths.

There it is, finally, the marker.

Around the place I search, before I feel a weight press down on me. I stop right there. My limbs displaces the water around me as I look around, sending ripples through the plains.

There it is, in all its glory. Barely visible, the water billowing out of it the only sign it exists.

Deep breaths. The coolness of the water flowing through me focuses my mind. My limbs fold upon themselves, expanding outwards in a sudden motion, forcing my body into the rift with a surge.

The force is incredible, and it tries to deny me entry. But long I have trained, and my muscles push me through.

The water at the other side is pushed aside at my wake. The weight of the water is less here, and I ascend quickly.

A school of fish watches me as I rise. I ignore them, and extent my senses outwards.

There. Amidst the natural push and pull of the tides, the bobbing of an oblong shape.

I take the time to check through my memory. A book's worth of drilled-in information is brushed past.

Yes. This one is new.

I sweep my limbs upwards in a complex pattern, aggravating the surface water. Before long, I float up below the vessel, the disturbed sea masking my approach. Slowly, methodically, I brush my limbs over its surface, and I soak in what they tell me.

Yes. Perfect.

The vibrations from the ship snap me out of my fugue state. A fear rises up within me, and the distinct patterns of the vibration confirms it. Humans.

Hastily, I detach myself from the boat, and dive back down. My limbs splay and twist behind me, stirring the waters into a funnel to aid my retreat. My return to the abyssal is assisted by the same force that sought to keep me out, and I slip back into the comforting depths quickly and, hopefully, without leaving behind any trail to this area.

I wait for what seemed like an eternity. Once it was apparent that the humans had not followed, I start making my way back.

The journey back is familiar, and my limbs carry me through the waters automatically. The haze of panic lifts from my mind, and my mind takes the opportunity to start generating ideas.

The petite 484 ton ship groans. "Dock me, Titanic," she gasps, "Dock me now..."

Yes. The pairing of two ships from two completely separate eras, with no logical and conceivable way to meet in their lifetimes; the most crucial element of the Twisted Form.

The creation of this essay would be easy, judging from how fast my mind is creating ideas for it, and no doubt its quality would be exquisite. It probably wouldn't need proofreading or spellchecking; after all, it is me who is this story's writer.

This time, the Elders of the Council will surely fawn over my work as they did with my shoalmates'. They will shower me with praise, and admiration, and the other writers, jealous of my masterpiece, will leave scathing remarks on the board of critique.

Destroying it during the Festival would be heartbreaking, but tradition must be followed.

At least, with its death, the title of "Crackn't" would be mine.

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