Don’t ask, as the waves crash against you, and froth covers your camera ports. The yellowish spume drips slowly down the glass again, its acid etching faint new designs over the old. The froth is tenacious, clinging until an unusually tall swell submerges you, pulling your cable taut against the anchor far below. Then the wave passes, and you’re clear, bobbing on the surface with only struts and base awash in corrosive, salty spray. You wonder when anyone last took notice of your condition.
About the story: A story about consequences in the distant ocean.
My first professional sale.