We were wading across the shallow end of the pool. I'd bob in and out of the cold water, which would shift from sea water, to pool water, to sea water, as I shuffled across tiles, and sand, and tiles again.
When submerged, I kept my eyes open. The water was clear, save for a thousand bubbles hurrying up to the surface. It was a strange frenzy of those pods and pods of air, those little orbs of void, whose movements were dictated solely by the laws of physics, while I could choose to anchor myself to the bottom, or to bubble up to the surface myself.
It took a while for me to realize that I was not just surrounded by bubbles, but by jellyfish as well. The translucency of their bodies were deceptive. They were only pockets of air themselves, encased in a soft membrane that moved like the skirts of women that men longed for. Each one was only about the size of a small orange. Their color: yellowing.
The waters began to grow more violent, and the jellyfish seemed to multiply before my very eyes. I stood up, and I found myself wading through a thick mass of pulsing, yellowing flesh, being tossed around by the wind. There were jellyfish everywhere. They swam through the air, through the agitated wind, whizzing past trees, and shooting up across the darkening skies.
I climbed out of the pool, and found shelter in a friend's arms. When I woke up from my dream, I had forgotten his face.
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