September 2026

Hospital Under the Sea by Bryn Kennell

When I die, I’ll cease to exist. At least that’s what the fish tell me.

But I don’t want to be a wave washed onto shore. For a wave turns to seafoam, then evaporates. No, I want my soul to be like the surface. Eternal, ever-changing.

A sea witch forces a syringe of bitter liquid into my mouth. Tiny jellyfish sting my feet and shoot up my legs.

“It’s poison. It hurts!” I shout.

The Sea Witch chortles. “No ma’am, the liquid was morphine. The pain would be your peripheral neuropathy.”

I shake my head, for I’ve lost my voice. Instead, I sink into the bed. I keep sinking. I gasp for air, but I cannot float. Down, down, I submerge into the blue.

I used to be a dancer. I remember leaping and twirling before learning to talk. Only since my diagnosis, I haven’t been able to walk.

Yet down here in the water, the pull of gravity has disappeared. I pirouette, twirl, and perform a double aerial. Then he’s here. He grabs my waist and spins me around. My lover, my prince. I sweep away his wet hair, and we kiss. His dark eyes smile at me. It’s been fifteen years since we’ve held hands. Even longer since we last danced.

I hear beeping. Perhaps a pod of dolphins will come to join our waltz. Then a whoosh of turbulence and something is jabbed into each nostril.

My prince flails. He’s holding his breath. He doesn’t belong to the sea, doesn’t belong to me. I wish to be his anchor, but I cannot drag him down. I thought seeing him under here meant we could be together. I had forgotten that humans drown. I push him upwards. He rises out of the water and towards the glittering stars.

A fish approaches. She pulls something out of her pocket, unwraps it, and connects it to tubing. I catch a glimpse of silver, a needle. Before I can react, the swordfish jabs the needle into my arm, straight into my vein. I scream.

Five older sisters forced me to grow strong. I am not going to give in without a fight. I manage to kick her off. I pull the needle out, and blood spills into the surrounding water.

I stumble to my feet. Stingrays torment my legs with each step. The water turns from blue to red. I trip. I’m drowning in darkness.

When I awake, I am surrounded by fish. Amidst their school, I spot the swordfish, the one who injected her needle in my arm. I scream and try once again to stand, but they’ve tied me to the ocean floor using seaweed.

“Ma’am, do you know where we are?” asks a blue-scrubbed fish.

“Under the sea.”

“You’re in the hospital,” says the bluefish. She leans over my chest and listens to my heart using a pair of conch shells.

I yank at the seaweed, but the attached coral won’t budge. “You must let me go. I must reach the surface. I must find my prince.”

“You're delirious,” responds a rather snide turtle. When he hunches over his computer, his head retracts into his chest.

An anglerfish shines a light in my eyes, muttering about pearls. Then he adds, “PERRL: Pupils are equal, round, and reactive to light.” My eyes are blue. Why doesn’t he compare them to sapphires?

They attach me to octopus tentacles that form waves on a machine. The water snake they wrap around my wrist is yellow and reads, “Fall Risk.” A pufferfish periodically inflates around my arm. They keep putting the crab claw back on my finger whenever I manage to shake it off.

I taste salt in my mouth. The metallic odor of a rusting shipwreck agitates my nostrils. I think of my prince sailing above.

They release me from the seaweed, and I use the break to try and remove the oysters they’ve suctioned to my legs. The fish protest, “They are circulation pumps.”

“But they hurt me so!”

The pufferfish inflates on my arm, and the sea turtle coaxes me to still. I gulp down more of the Sea Witch’s draught. I reach for the tube in my nostrils, but the fish inform me it provides oxygen. Some of the sea creatures sport their own scuba masks, others wear jellyfish over their heads. I catch sight of the swordfish in the hall and shoot an arrow of a glare.

The water wraps me like a blanket, insulating me from the world above. My movements feel fluid and slow.

A blue radiance settles over the room. The sun looks like a purple aster shining through amber windows. There is so much more on the ocean floor than sand. The plants down here sway and breathe. Bioluminescent lights flicker like stars. The way the fish flit, they could pass as birds.

Drip, drip. Above my head, liquid drips from a bag into my tube. It’s raining on the surface. I long to taste the rain. I must reach the world above. If there’s another sea storm, my prince could be in trouble. I kick and kick and kick. I’m so close. But each kick sends lightning bolts through my legs. My tears join the raindrops and I hardly resist as the swordfish stabs a needle into my arm.

When I awake, my eldest sister, Gale, leans over me. “Rose! Rose! I’m here.”

I reach towards her and my hand lands in her hair. Grey and thinner than it used to be, it shines silver in the light. I remember when she lost her hair to chemotherapy. The rest of us chopped off our hair and offered to make wigs. I remember being the one leaning over her hospital bed. I remember refusing to leave her side.

The water turns to air and the world becomes clear. The seaweed is restraints. The jellyfish above is an IV bag, and the turbulence is the flow of oxygen. The monochromatic lighting is a result of the fluorescent lights.

I try to talk. I’ve lost my voice. Saltwater stings my eyes. A flash of lightning strikes, and I can see everyone around me, everyone except the prince. A pang sharper than needles pricks my heart.

I’m sinking into the floor. A mussel shell closes over the ceiling, cutting off the light. I’m not sure which way is up, which is down. Still, I swim. I want to reach my sister. In this dark strange world, I’ve lost track of day and night. All I can do is gulp for air.

I hear voices. One unfamiliar, the other my sister. I kick harder.

“If she doesn’t have surgery she will die,” states my sister. Despite her words, her voice sounds ethereal to my ears. When the tumor stole her voice, we wondered if she would ever get it back.

“That is correct.” The Sea King’s words carry a biting finality.

“She was so healthy before, lived life to the fullest. Always singing, always dancing.”

“With her age and health, the surgery carries considerable risk. If you opt out of the surgery, we can explore hospice and palliative care.”

I hear my sister crying. I wish to reach her.

“In addition to the significant cardiovascular risks,” continues the Sea King doctor. “If we proceed with the surgery, it is likely we will have to amputate her legs.”

With this, I am the one to cry out. My whole body jerks. Suddenly I don’t want to leave this underwater world. Not if I’ll never be able to dance again.

I fade in and out of consciousness. I’m in my hospital room, holding my sisters’ hands. All five of them crowd around. How could that be? Last I saw Dawn, her eyes were closed, her face still as a marble statue. Now her seaweed green eyes glow again. She hands me a bouquet, the flowers red as sunset’s rays.

The riptide carries me away. I wake in the operating room.

The anesthesia sends me deep into the ocean. So deep, I cannot see anything but darkness. Still, I dance. I recognize this as my last chance. I let my body follow the fading beat of my heart. As I dance, my body turns to water. I can faintly hear frantic cries from the operating room. It’s so much more peaceful down in these depths. Leaping and twirling, I dance towards the siren’s tune.

The music turns to birdsong. I want my voice back so that I can sing along. I no longer want to dance on these legs or feel the stab of a thousand knives. I want my prince. I remember the moment his body turned to dust, the moment his soul joined the stars.

I no longer want to swim. I long to fly.

“Farewell,” I say as I rise like a bubble.

Darkness turns to light. My body heaves as I crash onto shore. I’ve turned to seafoam. Now I’m fading, dissolving without a care. I gulp in one last breath of air. I have reached the surface.