[ WP ] Water is generally viewed as an element of life , of healing , with fire being one of destruction and death . I 'd like to see a world where the opposite is true .

It cuts you. Straight through your body. Your heart simultaneously races and stops dead... Steadily chaotic... **And** you ca n't *think* except to *say* that right now you *wish* you were a weaver instead. Away from the water. It's my last seconds on Earth I'm not trying to save myself. I'm not trying to find salvation from my frigid future. I'm not thinking about my tribe or even my little sister; It is all dead to me, drowned in a polar crypt. The only wish I have left is about having one more embrace of the embers devoted glow. That's the worst I can confess. 
 
 It reminds me of baptism. When grandma passed mother wanted us to become Christ followers. Nana did n't want too much to do with the white folks or their new ideas, mostly all the elders frowned upon it. It made sense though. One person enters the waters of baptism, and another one comes out. Our sinful whims and wicked notions left behind. `` Born Again!...'' As Jesus said. 
 
 I'm beginning to think that maybe your demons return to when you go back in the water. The pain is beginning to subside. Replaced by an inexplicable rush of energy. My muscles felt stronger and my heart burned insatiably. The inner monsters were returning and brought with them feelings of loathing. The lower I sink, the more hate I have in my soul. A satisfying hate. 
 
 Those hypocrites. All of them. Fearing the water. It's mine now. It always was, we just never knew it. Just think for a second. We live in it. Sleep in it. Respect it and feed from it. The very air we breath represents itself as a cool mist. It is the soul of the Earth, coming from the heavens and sprawling over our land, enveloping our homes and cradling our figures as we walk in its ethereal presence. 
 
 My family, my tribe live in it like heedless barnacle among the life-blood of the gods. They live by the fire and preach of being liberated. They sit in sweat-shacks and their minds wrinkle with their hands. As if they know. Their minds perverted by their luxuries. The life-giving fire fosters a crippling hubris. A disconnect from divinity. 
 
 The Lord once spoke of this. The regret of his thankless creation. His struggle. The contrition against those ungrateful humans. Basking in pretension. So he dowsed them with rain. 40 days of it. He made them revere him. He punished their arrogance by drowning them in the true essence of his creation. To make them never forget their mistakes, he buried them in a watery grave. 

