In a Sea of Madness

Today, the ocean caught on fire.

I had been in a meeting with the girls, working out a work schedule for the following week, when the sky erupted in a blinding flash of light. The girls and I had reeled, slamming our eyes shut, and covering our faces with our hooves. When our vision finally cleared, the first thing we saw was an ocean covered in flames.

Impossible tongues of flame stretched toward the sky—flames that did not belong in nature. Dancing tongues of pink and bronze. Pillars of emerald green and snow white. Rings of indigo and silver. Flames of colors that didn’t exist in nature. All burning in an eerie silence—no crackling of flame, no roar of air rushing in.

As we watched, sparks the size of houses flew off into the night sky. Some landed on the sea, sending up new flames. A few landed on the Bubble and disappeared in a flash of eye-searing light.

Then, as suddenly as they had arrived, the flames vanished. The sky returned to normal. It was as if nothing had ever happened.

What really surprised me was how nonplussed we all were about the whole event. A month or so ago, we would have just stood there, trying to piece our shattered perceptions of reality back together. Now, we just collectively shrugged and went back to work.

For some reason, this worries me.