by Elena Zhang

He hates his father. Such a dick, he thinks. Their home is the ocean, but he’s imprisoned in a raindrop. He suffocates under his father’s constant gaze even as he surfaces for air. Curfew at nine. Lights out at ten. Like he’s just a child. There are three-legged specters out there, his father warns him, with blood-tipped barbed teeth. But jellyfish don’t scare him. The scars that adorn his father’s ivory blubber fill him with envy. One day, when his father is suspended in sleep, he’s going to disappear, melt into blue skies, and see just how sharp his teeth can be.