Skyler sat in his study, writing inside a diary journal. His fingers rushed through the pages as if he didn't think about what to write next, he just went with his nerves,  'So far, this is the only species of algae that enzymes strong enough to break down metals, plastic and aerosols. With five hundred experiments conducted by me near Wyona's creek, this specimen has broken down all of the materials mentioned in the following list. The material this alga decomposes the slowest is stone. It takes 431 days to completely decompose stone, so when stored, care must be taken that this alga is stored within stone containers, filled with water and that these containers are changed every year. This alga could be used to decompose factory waste, oils, chemicals like fertilisers, pesticides, detergents and sewage. Everything that is ultimately dumped into the ocean can be turned into compost within a matter of days. That obliterates the need to switch to alternatives and shifts humanity's focus on progress unhampered by the need to retain sustainability. 

I call it, 'Oceana vita,'

He closed his journal and looked at the stone pot beside him. He held the pot and ran down the stairs, he kept it in the sink in the kitchen and opened its lid. The blue algae shone inside the stone bed. Skyler pressed a vinyl record on his player and began playing some music as he cooked himself a beef sandwich. He grabbed some beef from the fridge, tore the packet open and dipped a beef strip inside the algae. The moment the beef touched the algae, it began decomposing. Twisting, turning, as if the dead beef was in pain. As if death was in pain.

Skyler looked at it, and remembered his mother, screaming from the basement, running to the door as the algae covered her body, but right before she could touch the handle, everything came running down. All her organs, her intestines, her blood and flesh, just left her skeleton, and her bones went rolling down the stairs and smashing themselves over a pile of algae, melting into it, and turning to foam.

He chewed his sandwich as he remembered collecting her remains with plastic gloves, the plastic too decomposed within thirty minutes, and with a plastic bucket full of her remains, he drained her into the ocean, just like Edgar. And as he chewed his sandwich, he looked at the paintings on the wall that his mother had painted. He looked at pictures of the sea, with him and his mother, and a baby whale near the horizon where the sun kissed the ocean. 

And it reminded him of Cyril. Whales always reminded him of Cyril, grand, blue, elegant and mysterious, singing their songs, and just being in love with the ocean. He loved the ocean. He loved its whales. And they were killing them. Killing the whales. Killing the ocean he loved. He wanted to protect them. He chewed slower, and his eyes began fluttering, his hands felt calm to that song behind him, the rolling vinyl record, the sound of the ocean miles away, the ship harbour, Sydney. He fell asleep and dreamt of a childhood dream, transporting himself to that picture on the wall. 

The baby whale. 

And her mother; so big, so strong, yet so far from war. It had nothing to prove, no waters to win, no whales to kill, for its strength was made for compassion and it existed as a graceful being. It was at peace with itself. And that...that is loving yourself...To be everything, not because you engulf everything inside you, but because you let it come to you. 

Love is, perhaps, the greatest joy.
For you, from you.

Cypher grabbed a young boy by his golden hair and pulled him closer to him, "Where is the money?" His blue eyes peeked inside the darkness of Cypher's baggy eyes, "I swear, Cypher, I'd give it to you if I had it," But Cypher punched his face and threw him on the filthy road, the stinking streets, with sewage water running down the tiny water lanes, Glizzy stood leaning on a broken wall, smoking his blue cigarettes. He heard Cypher swearing as he kicked the poor boy into the sewage. He whispered and begged for a second chance, and Cypher would let him have that, as he pulled his zipper down, "Suck it, then,"

 Glizzly threw his cigarette away as if disgusted by its taste and went down the stairs. He sat on the last step and looked at the sun, rising from the ocean. The water already reflected its joy with a pink haze, and a vivid mellowness, that transcended their privacy, and embellished Glizzly's gaze, like a shy couple, kissing in front of their friends for the very first time. It was the only thing that felt clean at that moment. 

"What are you thinking?" Cypher walked down the stairs while fixing his belt, "Staring at the beach as if its the first time you've seen it,"
"I'm thinking that it's so wonderful," Glizzly spoke to himself, "That no matter if we torment the ocean with our filth, or burden it with our bodies, it still manages to look so beautiful, every single day. I wish I could be like that,"

"It's superficial," Cypher stood beside him, looking at the ocean, "You go deeper, you see how filthy it really is. It's almost like something killed it from the inside,"
"I wonder what," Glizzly smiled, sarcastically. 
"Me too. Now, let's get going before some bloody cop pulls up and starts poking his dick into our business," He grabbed the car keys and sat before the steering wheel.

Then, he sighed and looked at Cypher, "Did you enjoy it?" Glizzly asked as he looked at him through his dark brown hair, his eyes darker than an eclipse. 
Cypher looked at him and Glizzly did not avert his gaze, "Maybe someone as unlovable as you can only gain the unafraid touch of anything living by those tacky escapades,"
"You are quite unlovable too, Glizzly. When you fuck, it's always only the body. You never reached someone's mind. You never fell in love..." He lit a cigarette, "What was his name? Edward? Edwards?"

"He broke me,"
"Being a victim, again, huh?" Cypher smiled, "He was a child, Glizzly. You don't fuck with sixteen-year-olds, that's fucked up, mate! And you deliberately brought him to our world, when you knew, you knew our gates don't open backwards,"
"BUT I LOVED HIM! AND I WANTED HIM TO STAY!" Glizzly punched the dashboard.
"If you loved him, you won't reach for him. Because you know the hell you carry, why would you bring someone you love in that burning blue of human hell?"
"Because..." Glizzly turned away and looked at the ocean, and the sewage from the lanes above those stairs, falling into its water, like a narrow stream of black piss, "I wanted to keep fucking him," The water had bubbles in it, and began foaming into a black mass. He clenched his eyes tightly, he clenched his jaw.

"Maybe someone as unlovable as you can only gain the unafraid touch of anything living by those tacky escapades," Cypher started the car and began driving, nonchalantly, as the sun rose up and warmed his pink face, and he sank into despair. 

"THE SUN IS GLEAMING THIS MORNING AND SO ARE OUR FINALISTS OF THE WINTER CUP!" The commentator yelled into the loudspeaker as the crowd gathered on the breath, men and women, both old and young, some people had brought their children to enjoy a family picnic, and some were surf enthusiasts and spending a lovely weekend cheering for their favourite surfer. The others were coaches who had brought their young students to watch the practical applications of techniques from professionals and hopefully learn something.
"The weather is certainly very favourable for today's final," Another commentator spoke on his mike while the judges seated themselves on their spot, right under the scoreboard.

"NOW, LET US HAVE A LOOK AT THE TEAMS WHO MADE IT TO THE FINALS!"
"We have Hinogawa Toshi from Japan, Osolo Douglas from South Africa, Tom Wayward from New Zealand and our very own Aussie pride, Cyril Edwards, who had an amazing surprise planned for us last time!"
"CAREFUL THERE, MORTIS! WAYWARD IS NOT GOING TO LET THAT SLIDE!"
"He is definitely cooking something to win this, that's for sure,"

As the commentators continued chatting on their mics, Arthur dusted the sand off of his hair and looked back at Tristian and Cyril, "I can't believe we made it!" He screamed as he grabbed his towel and pressed the door of their changing room, "I'm going to get us some water!"
When he left, Tristian smiled at Cyril and he looked into his eyes while drinking his glucose water, "What?"
"Nothing... You look pretty, today. I mean, you always do, you aren't ugly the other days, you just look prettier than usual today. Handsome, I mean handsome, pretty for a boy is kinda-"

"Thanks, Tristian. You look pretty too. Pretty anxious, I mean," Cyril laughed.
"Yeah, I mean, well, this is the first time...I've made it so far, you know. Everyone has their eyes on me. And you. But you must be used to it,"
"Nah, I'm very anxious too. I'm just good at hiding it," He threw his cup into the dustbin and pressed his fingers on his bench. He looked at the wall and Tristian looked at him.

"You want to hold hands?" Tristian thought of saying it, "No, I don't want to sound desperate. Are you bored? We can hold hands?... I like your fingers, can I hold them for a bit?" He shook his head, "All of them sound so cringe. I give up,"
"Is that a little heart tattoo between your fingers?" Cyril looked at Tristian's hand, it had a heart-shaped mole, but before he could say anything, he felt Cyril's hands, holding his fingers and spreading them apart with his thumb and his middle finger to take a closer look at the art between them. 

Tristian looked at his eyes, examining that spot and then as he continued holding them, he pressed his index finger upon that mole, rubbing it gently, Tristian gave out a soft moan. Cyril looked at him, "You're sensitive there?"
Tristian didn't say anything, he felt his finger rub that spot repeatedly. He bit his lips and looked up at Cyril, he was already looking at his face, "Tristian,"

"Y-Yes?" He answered, stifling with breathlessness.
"Can I touch your heart?"

-To be continued

Tristian Miller 
Undercover Blue Riot