In the hazy place between sleep and awake, I hear the rushing of water calling my name. It thrashes and lashes at the edges of my consciousness the longer I ignore the siren song.

I gasp sitting up, drenched in both sweat and the muddled morning light of my bedroom like a reanimated corpse.

My white cat simply emits a noise of annoyed apathy from the foot of my bed, very much used to and over this routine by now.

“It happened again,” I tell her anyway.

She chirps as if to say, _“Obviously,” _and resituates so her butt faces me instead.

I deserved that.

For weeks now, I wake as if submerged, phantom water filling my throat as though I’ve joined the rebels in the roiling sea on the other side of the cliffs.

I smack blearily at the incessant beeping of my alarm on the nightstand instead of my own face.

The forbidden has always enticed me.

I wish the government would’ve encouraged entrance into the ocean instead.

I’d never think about that place again.

“The government!” I cry out like a curse in a perfect impression of my late uncle.

I completely forgot what day it is.

Scrambling to get ready in my stupid uniform of a wrap dress and flats, I’m serenaded by meows insisting I sit to witness her eat breakfast and almost murdered twice by her twisting between my ankles.

“I have to get down to the cliffs,” I implore my cat. She considers that for a beat, but seems to realize she doesn’t care, as it has nothing to do with her.

“It’s the Sundering,” I remind her.

_Now_ she looks interested.

Those considered rebels by the government, ones caught uttering rumors of worlds beyond our perilous and prohibited waters, are given the chance to redeem their family name by leaping into the very sea they claim capable of safely ushering them elsewhere.

It’s a ceremony mostly designed to terrify others into staying in line.

Anyone in the community that is not in attendance is considered a conspiring criminal and will be dragged forcefully to the side of the accused.

“Can’t sully our family name,” I console the cat. Her reluctant acceptance of my absence is relayed just before the door closes at my back.

I quickly shuffle into the thick haze of another gloomy grey day, padding quickly over wet cobblestone streets along with other frantic late risers, and silently pleading with my standard issue shoes to not give out on me just yet.

“You’re late, little rebel,” a male voice drawls at my side.

I give Jacob a super ladylike snort scoff without looking his way. His long legs allow him to stride casually at my side while I maintain a scurrying pace.

He’s late because he can be. He could be there in two leaps with his freak height, I’d bet. But mostly he’s late because I am, and his day hasn’t truly begun until he’s bothered me.

I almost unfairly take out my frustration on him, but karate chopping his esophagus would only take time I don’t have.

“Let’s maybe not use that nickname today, _Jake_,” I pointedly hiss back the version of his name that he hates, ducking around a large man in hopes of ditching my daily distraction.

Jake unfortunately meets me on the other side of the human obstacle with the same beaming grin he always greets me with. The big blond oaf has previously expressed his good natured enjoyment with my annoyance, so he’s having an amazing time right now.

It’s hard not to return his smile until I recall where we’re headed.

“Who do you think it’ll be this time?” I ask.

His smile falls slightly. On a hard swallow, he asks instead, “Do you ever think it’s more of a gift than a punishment?”

We slow to a stop, just shy of colliding with a large man in the back of the still forming crowd of hundreds along the steep cliffside. The level of land is lower down below, so all are in a prime place to witness our peers’ fate.

I lift up on tiptoe to better whisper furiously back at Jake, “Gift?!”

He nods sharply, bending down a bit to utter in a hushed voice next to my ear, “If the ocean was really all that dangerous, they wouldn’t have to work so hard to scare us away.”

Pulling back, his expression seems to implore me to consider this perspective on my own as if he can say no more. I nod with wide eyes expressing my alarm, but it mostly pertains to the fact that this man knows where I live.

_Scare us away?_

What if they’re just protecting us?

A gulls laughing cry as it flies overhead seems to be an accurate response to that question.

We’re not cared for, we’re caged.

My treasonous thoughts are luckily interrupted by a loud crash of a wave that makes the crowd ripple with flinches.

The governor takes that moment to emerge from a podium built on the edge of the cliff, intended in exhaltation of his authority and superiority over the prohibited place that he presides.

“Welcome to the Sundering,” he announces a bit too gleefully for me. The only response the whistle of sea breeze and taunting crash of waves.

We are not morning people.

The governor’s throat clearing is audible.

“Rebels,” he summons, voice deepening in false disappointment. It’s plain for everyone to see that the man lives for this stuff.

A line of people forms along the edge in soundless resignation to their fate. I don’t look at their faces. I never look.

Someone’s phone chimes in the crowd. The same tone as my morning alarm, taunting me with the inability to wake from this nightmare.

“Asunder!” The governor demands.

One by one, the vague forms of townspeople in my periphery peel from the cliffs and into open air like a synchronized dance.

While some scream, others exit silently, only the sobs of their loved ones remaining fill the void where they once stood.

Few create audible splashes, most are swallowed by the swells that seem to churn more furiously, even spattering the governors jacket like a disgraceful slap.

It’s over too quickly, yet seems to take forever.

Jake squeezes my hand.

I have no idea when his fingers intertwined with mine, but relaxing my grip seems to restore blood flow to us both.

The governor says some rehearsed placating words that we’re not required to remain for, so we don’t. The rest of the day is a blur, as it always is on the Sundering, but the image of Jacob’s imploring face is still on my mind when I return home that night.

My cat is absolutely beside herself with worry.

I pick her up, much to her dismay, and nuzzle my cheek into her soft fur.

I’ve barely allowed myself to consider it, but something about her reluctant comfort has the words pouring aloud.

“We have to get out of here.”

She wiggles to get out of my grip. I lower her to the floor, but then she uncharacteristically bolts for the front door.

“Wait!” I cry out as she slips through the gap that I hadn’t closed completely in my exhaustion.

“I didn’t mean right now!”

I sprint out after her but she’s a bolt of white in the darkness.

“Where we going, little rebel?” Jake asks as he appears beside me. I yelp & turn to yell at him, but his earnest concern undoes me.

“My cat got out,” I croak.

He does his sharp nod. “Then let’s find her.”

We comb the streets for the unique sight of white to no avail, finally approaching the last place I want to see with dread.

It’s there, atop the governor’s podium, that my cat sits with imperious impatience. My feet are closing the distance even as I breathe, “No.”

The podium’s steps are slick, but I climb them with the same desperation as my raised arms, prepared to snag the only being I love from the cusp.

But the look she gives me is goading, almost a challenge, before she leaps through the air in a move that seems to steal all of mine.

“No,” I plea helplessly once more.

Hands grab both of my shoulders from behind.

“Go on after her, little rebel. It’ll be alright,” Jake coos.

I swallow hard & feel an echo of that waking phantom pain in my throat.

“How do you know,” I can’t help but ask the crazy man.

The source of my sanity just dove into the sea.

Jake turns me to face him, confiding lowly as though we’re not the only two on the cliffside.

“Because I enter that ocean all the time.”

I’m struck speechless, then I’m flying.

Jake’s smiling face is a shrinking speck above me and then I’m consumed in a leaden cloak of cold.

It’s almost comforting in it’s nothingness. This unrelenting and infinite grip.

It would be so easy to let it take control, but the image of my cat flashes to mind.

The challenge in her eyes.

I decide to rise to it and fight.

But my body refuses my commands to writhe.

I waited too long. I’m too weak.

Who am I to challenge an indomitable force of nature?

I open my eyes to witness my demise & only find endless shifting white displaced by shadows.

_Fight_, they seem to chant.

My fingers flex.

_Fight_, they implore even louder.

The white expands.

_Fight!_ They demand.

With meagre movements, I propel myself toward their embrace.

The shadows take shape as they seem to congregate around me, almost resembling sad silhouettes staring down in my grave.

The taunting tune of my alarm even begins to haunt me here. My lungs force a deep inhale in rebellion to the idea of never waking again.

Pain slicks down my throat that miraculously fills with no water. The weight of the ocean suddenly lifts from my body with a jolt reminiscent of a rollercoaster, seemingly leaving my heart and stomach behind.

Just in time for a shadow to startle me as it _speaks, _a bittersweet laughing announcement of, “She’s awake!”

I gag around the continued obtrusive pain, alarm continuing to peal away while I blink rapidly into the white. The forms of vaguely familiar people hovering over me gradually come into clarity.

They’re immediately shoved away by nurses wearing various shades, my new favorite carefully dislodges the intubation from my throat while another blessedly mutes the chime of my heart monitor.

My hospital gown, wrapped around me like a dress, is pried open as various things are checked.

Another nurse restores my modesty before placing a stuffed animal back under my chin - a white cat, I realize with tears in my eyes. Everyone seems to be speaking rapidly about things like accidents and comas to my ringing ears.

I thankfully wake later to a few of the familiar people at my bedside, napping now after the ordeal, just as I apparently did.

As if I hadn’t slept enough already.

Weeks, I think they’d said.

There’s a gurgled gasp then cough on the other side of the room, reminding me so much of the way I’d awaken daily in what I guess was all a dream.

I reflexively turn toward the noise, chin grazing my cat plush as I scan the curtain partition there.

My apparent roommate makes a masculine clearing of his throat. Face audibly turned in my direction, he rasps, “I knew you could do it, little rebel.”