[ WP ] Unknown depths of the sea : you 're part of an armada of colossal submarines descending into the abyss ...

An expensive table weight, although the table would have to be the size of Nebraska. The submarine was suppose to be 9 of 20 to explore energy possibilities at the bottom of the ocean through lava vents. Although the energy portion is not my area. The people that fill it would be my domain. 
 
 
 I looked out at the dome room or sector. The dome was suppose to be my addition to allow people to feel an endless sky. It is a large glass orbs connected but the sea is incredibly dark. To solve the darkness tentacles of leds streamed upward showering the dark sea in life and made the space seem open and larger. Usually the lights would show nothing but ocean. The lights were now all above us as we were descending and the ship was dragging the tentacles down. A gleam of metal was on the edge of perception. The tenticals would eventually settle on the seafloor, but I wouldn ’ t see that. 
 
 
 Although I never was meant to see that. I am just a builder and a ‘ surface contractor ’, so this was a unique experience. This might be the last one to developed, might be the Chernobyl of our industries. Catastrophic breakdown while developing the structural system or the submarine frame tacoed. A soft creak as the frame folded a little more. But I found myself looking into the darkness wondering if I would see a small light where the hull would break. 
 Unfortunately I couldn ’ t try and glean something about psychology from other doomed passengers. I sat alone in my globe of despair with the echoes of warning buzzards and creaks that echoed through endless chambers. I looked at the small hope that remained of an illuminated number 6. The Elsinore or number 6 of 20 was trying to coordinate with 5 other multi-billion dollar machines to rescue the tacoed number 9. 
 
 
 I stared at number 6 remembering my apartment number back in Chicago, the cold windy winters. I wondered if I would feel the rush of the bone chilling water or if pressure would knock me out first. The twentieth sixth of my Mom ’ s birthday in late April just as her garden started to sprout. I wish I could lay my hands into that dirt one last time. I would trade the view of my demise for one handful of sticky dirt. I heard a louder creek. I saw hands and the bright glow of the red from the number six and I remember feeling the warmth of the sun baked dirt. A smile reached my face as I retreated into my mind as a harsh bang happened.
