Peyton Cassel
Lancaster, PA
2015, Junior, Creative Writing

“What do you mean it wasn’t like this? It’s the ocean. It’s always been there.”
“You don’t know the first thing about the past.”
“Sure I do. They teach us at school. Here, I’ll read the textbook to you. ‘The ocean is a large, black mass of salt water that makes up more than seventy percent of the world. Contaminated beyond restoration, it’s known to cause the Fatal Disease, commonly referred to as ’—-”
“Gemma, it used to be blue.”
“What?”
I stand on the edge of the railing, bare feet tingling, my arms stretched out for balance. The waves rock the liner back and forth, a steady pulse I shift to. In the darkness, celestial bodies are mere specks of light, the sea a lurking blackness beneath the sky.
Finlay sighs and runs a hand through his already mussed hair. “That’s just not possible.”
I glare at him coolly. “Oh, so you think I’m making this up?” Carefully, I jump down from the railing and onto the deck. My bare feet slap against the wooden planks. “Are you calling my mother a liar?”
“No.” He rolls his eyes and turns away.
“Then what don’t you believe?” My eyebrows furrow, half in confusion, half in irritation.
He laughs at my expression before answering. “I can’t believe the ocean used to be blue.”
I snort. It is strange to picture the waves that way young and new, a dazzling ultramarine. Sad even, that so much had changed.
Suddenly, blue didn’t seem so funny.
“What’s wrong?” Finlay scrutinizes me.
“We should do something about it,” I say quietly. I’m not even sure if he hears me. But he does.
“The color?”
“No.” I meet his eyes, serious. “The ocean.”
***
“Okay, this says that scientists developed a species of GMOs called Atralucites, but this one supports a theory about an alien invasion. Which one do you think?” Finlay looks up at me over his stack of books, and I bite my lip struggling not to laugh. He’s straddling his chair with a pile of papers in his lap, has tucked three pens behind one ear, and is eating from a jar of w
“Is that… peanut butter?” I ask, momentarily distracted.
He scowls. “Yes. Now, answer the question.”
I snicker, trying to turn it into a cough last minute. “I dunno Fin, that alien invasion sounds pretty realistic to me.”
Finlay grumbles something about lack of respect and resumes his notes, pen scratching against paper. “Have you found anything good yet?”
I sigh. “Just the same information. Most support the GMO theory, where a group of scientists were trying to stop something called Red Tide.”
Finlay taps his pen, considering. “So these GMOs were similar to what, phytoplankton?”
I shake my head. “Almost. Dinoflagellates branch off of that category. They’re what often caused the Red Tide, especially if water nutrients were high enough.”
“And they created these Atralucites to eat them?”
“Not exactly. I think it was an ingredient that altered the dinoflagellates, in the hopes that it would lessen their ability to reproduce.”
“But the chemicals in these Atralucites had manganese ”
“Which turned the ocean black ”
“And the contamination led to the Fatal Disease,” I finish.
Finlay looks at me, aghast. “They tampered with the environment. And after everything was contaminated, no one really cared.”
I nod, recalling mounds of debris and mangled plastic, trailing listlessly across the water. That’s how it’s always been for us, and that’s how it always will be. Unless…
I drop my book, stunned. “I think I have an idea.”
***
Finlay stands at the end of the lab table, staring down at the test tube he grips in his hands. I watch his expression carefully, concerned that his knuckles are turning white.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, setting aside my clipboard.
He mutters something unintelligible.
“What?” I repeat.
“It works. It actually works.” He lifts the test tube to the light, and it’s my turn to stare, gaze focused on the water inside. So different from its murky black, the liquid was see-through and pristine clean.
“Fin,” I breathe. “We did it.”
***
Ten years later…
The man steps down from the podium, the applause continuing even as he reaches his table. Beneath his arm is tucked a silver plaque, a trinket compared to the reward he gave the rest of the world. The lady he spent his life’s work with remains at the stage, finishing the speech she made for the occasion.
The slideshow that follows is long and irrelevant; a list of his past successes, while all he wants to do is look towards the future. The man leans in close to his distracted son.
“Did you know?”
The boy looks up at him, startled by his father’s conspiratorial look. Grinning, he rises to the bait. “Know what?”
“About the ocean. It used to be black.”
The boy giggles. “No daddy. It’s blue. It’s always been blue, because you and mommy pruh-tect-id it.”
The man’s laughter catches in his throat, remembering a time not so long ago, involving a ship, a girl, and a similar conversation.
“You’re right buddy. It is blue.” He ruffles his son’s hair, messing it up even more than usual. Like his own. “And I intend to keep it that way.”

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Beneath the Blue