Draft 7 We all stared over the edge of the deck, amazed, as the tall-masted ship bearing us slid slowly

through the waves of glowing water. The most distinctive quality of the experience I recall was the sharpness. The night sky glinted sharp, a million cold stars, a million shards of broken mirror. The night wind was sharp, biting icy gusts ruffling the waves of the Pacific Ocean. We felt the wind tear through our sweaters and feeble swimwear, and looked down at pinpricks of light glowing in the deep black of the ocean, and it was all very, very, sharp. We were gathered by a ladder that led up the side of the boat, hearts pounding. We had just been told that we would get to jump into the strange, deep, glowing water. Lucky us! I was first. I was usually first, unfettered by proper, orderly ideas that somehow seemed left behind out on the ocean. I slipped some goggles on and fastened my snorkel, but I didnt want to. I really didnt. I hadnt been too scared when I had been swimming with the huge, sharp-toothed fish. I hadnt been too scared when I was nearly caught under the propellers of the motorboat. I was downright brazen about the dare to eat the strange, barbed seaweed. But I trembled now, about to jump into a deep empty ocean with lights that I didnt understand. The first to jump. I kept remembering a clip I had seen, of a gaggle of penguins milling about at the edge of an iceberg, before pushing the unlucky First into the cold water and watching for his death. I felt eyes on my back behind me, baited breath, urging me forward, anyone so long as they were not First. I balked, scared, of how massive and mysterious the ocean suddenly looked: Black, deep, and sharply lit by pricks of angel light. It was natural: bioluminescent plankton, they said, but it looked so ethereal, so otherworldly. Are you going? prompted an impatient voice, and suddenly that was all I needed. Fear was thrust backstage at the emergence of risking being taken for a coward. I jumped into the ocean and I felt like I had just fallen through a layer of ice. The shock stopped my breathing, and for a few seconds I was paralyzed. Unable to put my snorkel in my mouth, unable to kick for the surface, unable to even close my eyes. I was frozen from the sudden cold. My lungs refused to move, and my hair slowly floated towards my eyes as the rest of me stayed rigid. Frozen. Shocked. I hardly even noticed, because what I saw cancelled all other thought. I was suspended in space. A million twinkling stars stood still, and all around me was the deepest black I had ever seen, or will ever see. The thick, cold, cold blackness was broken only by little dots of glorious light, so very small, but so very bright. They danced, slowly, to the beat of waves through the water like icy wind, an underwater mirror to the winter clear night sky. Total blackness, and white-blue pinpricks. Stars. Space. I was frozen inside an entire galaxy.

Formatted: Font: Bold, Not Italic

Draft 6 We all stared over the edge of the deck, amazed, as the tall-masted ship bearing us, slid slowly through the waves of glowing water. The most distinctive quality of the experience I recall, was the sharpness. The night sky glinted sharp, a million cold stars, a million shards of broken mirror. The night wind was sharp, biting icy gusts ruffling the waves of the Pacific Ocean. We felt the wind tear through our sweaters and feeble swimwear, and looked down at pinpricks of light glowing in the deep black of the ocean, and it was all very, very, sharp. We were gathered by a ladder that led up the side of the boat, hearts pounding. We had just been told that we would get to jump into the strange, deep, glowing water. Lucky us! I was first. I was usually first, unfettered by proper, orderly ideas that somehow seemed left behind out on the ocean. I slipped some goggles on and fastened my snorkel, but I didnt want to. I really didnt. I hadnt been too scared when I had been swimming with the huge, sharp -toothed fish. I hadnt been too scared when I was nearly caught under the propellers of the motorboat. I was downright brazen about the dare to eat the strange, barbed seaweed. But I trembled now, about to jump into a deep empty ocean with lights that I didnt understand. The first to jump. I kept remembering a clip I had seen, of a gaggle of penguins milling about at the edge of an iceberg, before pushing the unlucky First into the cold water and watching for his death. I felt eyes on my back behind me, baited breath, urging me forward, anyone so long as they were not First. I balked, scared, of how massive and mysterious the ocean suddenly looked. Black and deep, and sharply lit by pricks of angel light. It was natural: bioluminescent plankton, they said; but it looked so ethereal, so otherworldly. Are you going? prompted an impatient voice, and suddenly that was all I needed. Fear was thrust backstage at the emergence of risking being taken for a coward. I jumped into the ocean and I felt like I had just fallen through a layer of ice. The shock stopped my breathing, and for a few seconds I was paralyzed. Unable to put my snorkel in my mouth, unable to kick for the surface, unable to even close my eyes. I was frozen from the sudden cold. My lungs refused to move, and my hair slowly floated towards my eyes as the rest of me stayed rigid. Frozen. Shocked. I hardly even noticed, because what I saw cancelled all other thought. I was suspended in space. A million twinkling stars stood still, and all around me was the deepest black I had ever seen, or will ever see. The thick, cold, cold blackness was broken only by little dots of glorious light, so very small, but so very bright. They danced, slowly, to the beat of waves through the water like icy wind, an underwater mirror to the winter clear night sky. Total blackness, and white-blue pinpricks. Stars. Space. I was frozen inside an entire galaxy.
Comment [S3]: Recommended Change To: An underwater mirror to the clear, winter night sky. -AJ Comment [S1]: I believe the phrase is, the kid bearing down on us(me). Comment [S2]: This comma feels uncessary.

Draft 5 We all stared over the edge of the deck, amazed, as the tall-masted ship bearing us slid slowly through the waves of glowing water. The most distinctive quality of the experience I remember was the sharpness. The night sky was sharp, a million glinting stars as a million shards of broken mirror. The night wind was sharp, biting cold gusts blowing over the now speckled-with-light waves of the Pacific Ocean. We felt the wind tear through our sweaters and feeble swimwear, and looked down at pinpricks of light glowing in the deep black of the ocean, and it was very very sharp. We all gathered by a ladder that led up the side of the boat, hearts pounding. We had just been told that we would get to jump into the strange, deep, glowing water. I was first. I was usually first, unfettered by proper, orderly ideas that somehow seemed left behind out on the ocean. I slipped some goggles on and fastened my snorkel, but I didnt want to. I really didnt. I hadnt been too scared when I had been swimming with the huge, sharp-toothed fish. I hadnt been too scared when I was nearly caught under the propellers of the motorboat. I was downright brazen about the dare to eat the strange, barbed seaweed. But I was terrified now, about to jump into a deep empty ocean with lights that I didnt understand, the first to jump. I kept remembering a clip I had seen, of a gaggle of penguins milling about at the edge of an iceberg, before pushing the unlucky First into the cold water and watching for his death. I felt eyes on my back behind me, baited breath, urging me forward, anyone so long as they were not First. I was scared of how massive and mysterious the ocean suddenly looked, black and deep and sharply lit by pricks of angel light. It was natural: bioluminescent plankton, they said, but it looked so ethereal, so otherworldly. Are you going? prompted an impatient voice, and suddenly that was all I needed. Scary, perhaps, but boy did I want to know what it felt like to swim in glowing water. I jumped into the ocean and I felt like I had just fallen through a layer of ice. The shock stopped my breathing and for a few seconds I was paralyzed, unable to put my snorkel in my mouth, unable to kick for the surface, unable to even close my eyes. I was frozen from the sudden cold. My lungs refused to move, and my hair slowly floated towards my eyes as the rest of me stayed rigid. Frozen. Shocked. I hardly even noticed, because what I saw cancelled all other thought. I was suspended in space. A million twinkling stars stood still, and all around me was the deepest black I had ever seen, or will ever see. The thick, cold, cold blackness was broken only by little dots of glorious light, so very small but so very bright. They danced, slowly, to the beat of waves through the water like icy wind, an underwater mirror to the winter clear night sky.
Comment [S4]: Good.

Total blackness, and white-blue pinpricks. Stars. Space. I was frozen inside an entire galaxy.

Draft 4

I wasnt thinking very clearly, grouped in a small, shivering huddle with my fel lows as we tried to ignore the cold Pacific ocean wind piercing our shirts. It was too cold and the sky echoed the feeling. The moon and stars were icy, impersonable chips of cut glass in the distance. The ship creaked and rocked on the wide, rolling waves: we were dozens of miles from shore. We all gathered by a ladder that led up the side of the boat, hearts pounding. I was first. I was usually first, unfettered by proper, orderly ideas that somehow seemed left behind out on the ocean. I slipped some goggles on and fastened my snorkel, but I didnt want to. I really didnt. The water was sprinkled with tiny pinpoints of light, swaying in the wake of the massive threemasted sailship. It was natural: bioluminescent plankton, they said, but it looked so ethereal, so otherworldly, that inside I felt a riot of panic at plunging into an alien swarm of strange, glowing, somehow living particles. Most of us remember the first moment when we learn that the sun is actually a star, or that trees are alive. It cant be! They dont look like it. Then we begin to wonder, if we didnt know the tree was alive, what else didnt we know about the tree? Is the tree plotting against us? Will it bite? Maybe that was just me, but the feeling of apprehension is the same. My world had expanded by a million miles and suddenly I was out on a literal, and metaphorical, black inky ocean pierced by star-bright twinkles. I wasnt too scared when I had been swimming with the huge, sharp-toothed fish. I wasnt too scared when I was nearly caught under the propellers of the motorboat. I was downright brazen about the dare to eat the strange, barbed seaweed. But I was terrified now, about to jump into a deep empty ocean with lights that I didnt understand. For all my previous marine exploits, I was scared of how massive and mysterious the ocean suddenly looked, black and deep and sharply lit by pricks of angel light. Are you going? prompted an impatient voice, and suddenly that was all I needed. Scary, perhaps, but boy did I want to know what it felt like to swim in glowing water. I jumped into the ocean and I felt like I had just fallen through a layer of ice. The shock stopped my breathing and for a few seconds I was paralyzed, unable to put my snorkel in my mouth, unable to kick for the surface, unable to even close my eyes. I was frozen from the sudden cold.

My lungs refused to move, and my hair slowly floated towards my eyes as the rest of me stayed rigid. Frozen. Shocked. I hardly even noticed, because what I saw cancelled all other thought. I was suspended in space. A million twinkling stars stood still, and all around me was the deepest black I had ever seen, or will ever see. The thick, cold, cold blackness was broken only by little dots of glorious light, so very small but so very bright. They danced, slowly, to the beat of waves through the water like icy wind, an underwater mirror to the winter clear night sky. Total blackness, and white-blue pinpricks. Stars. Space. I was frozen inside an entire galaxy.
Draft 3

I wasnt thinking very clearly, grouped in a small, shivering huddle with my fellows as we tried to ignore the cold Pacific ocean wind piercing our shirts. It was too cold and the sky echoed the feeling. The moon and stars were icy, impersonable chips of cut glass in the distance. The ship creaked and rocked on the wide, rolling waves: we were dozens of miles from shore. We all gathered by a ladder that led up the side of the boat, hearts pounding. I was first. I was usually first, unfettered by proper, orderly ideas that somehow seemed left behind out on the ocean. I slipped some goggles on and fastened my snorkel. I wasnt too scared when I had been swimming with the huge, sharp-toothed fish. I wasnt too scared when I was nearly caught under the propellers of the motorboat. I was downright brazen about the dare to eat the strange, barbed seaweed. But I was terrified now, about to jump into a deep empty ocean with people watching over me. For all my previous marine exploits, I was scared of how massive and mysterious the ocean suddenly looked, black and deep and sharply lit by pricks of angel light. The water was sprinkled with tiny pinpoints of light, swaying in the wake of our ship. I was scared to get in, I didnt quite trust the dizzying depth of the ocean and the mysterious glow, but I forced my pounding heart to go through with it. I jumped into the water and I felt like I had just fallen through a layer of ice. The shock stopped my breathing and for a few seconds I was paralyzed, unable to put my snorkel in my mouth, unable to kick for the surface, unable to even close my eyes. I was frozen from the sudden cold, and when I registered what I was seeing, I was frozen from something entirely different as well. I was suspended in space. A million twinkling stars stood still, and all around me was the deepest black I had ever seen, or will ever see. The thick, cold, cold blackness was broken only by little dots of glorious light, so very small but so very bright. I have tried many times to write about the feeling, to name it. No words can fully capture it. I was frozen inside a galaxy.

Draft 2 I wasnt thinking very clearly, grouped in a small, shivering huddle with my fellows as we tried to ignore the cold Pacific ocean wind piercing our swimwear. It was too cold and the sky echoed the feeling. The moon and stars were icy, impersonable chips of cut glass in the distance. We all gathered by a ladder that led up the side of the boat, hearts pounding. I slipped some goggles on and fastened my snorkel. The water was sprinkled with tiny pinpoints of light, swaying in the wake of our ship. I was scared to get in, I didnt quite trust the dizzying depth of the ocean and the mysterious glow, but I forced my pounding heart to go through with it. I jumped into the water and I felt like I had just fallen through a layer of ice. The shock stopped my breathing and for a few seconds I was paralyzed, unable to put my snorkel in my mouth, unable to kick for the surface, unable to even close my eyes. I was frozen from the sudden cold, and when I registered what I was seeing, I was frozen from something entirely different as well. I was suspended in space. A million twinkling stars stood still, and all around me was the deepest black I had ever seen, or will ever see. The thick, cold, cold blackness was broken only by little dots of glorious light, so very small but so very bright. I have tried many times to write about the feeling, to name it. No words can fully capture it. I was frozen inside a galaxy.

Draft 1 Hey! Hey, get up! I think its a general rule that the human race dislikes being woken from a good, deep nighttime sleep. And if its a sleep after an exhausting day sailing on the Pacific Ocean on a traditional schooner, then sleep is all the more precious. Traditional tall ships required a full crew, and for each crew member to work hard, so nobody appreciated it when the light was flipped on in the small cluster of bunk beds below deck after hours. We all groaned, blinking, unwilling to move. You guys should come out on deck. Cmon, get out here now! I grumbled good-heartedly, along with everyone else, but I was excited. I tossed on a sweater and jumped up the ladder to the deck. The icy ocean wind blasted away any of my warm grogginess. It was very dark, and I first looked up at the thin moon and sharp stars hanging like icy chips in an ink-black sky. I was followed by a small herd of ten or fifteen kids, and they all gasped at the cold. Why were we up here? Come over here, the woman who had woke us whispered excitedly. We followed her to the edge of the deck and gasped. Our ship was at a steady clip over the black water, and churned up the surface. Where the ship touched the water, it was lined in a heavenly light blue glow. It was ghostly and magnificent and terrifying all at once. We were awestruck. Theyre fluorescent plankton, the woman whispered. They glow when theyre moved. Come on, swimsuits. We quickly shucked our clotheswe slept in our swimwear with clothes over top, as mornings we were required to jump into the shockingly cold water to wake up. An excited buzz settled over our small group as it became apparent that we were about to jump into the glowing water. The ship slowed to a halt. An anchor was dropped. We all gathered by a ladder that led up the side of the boat, hearts pounding. I slipped some goggles on and fastened my snorkel. The water was sprinkled with tiny pinpoints of light, swaying in the wake of our ship. I was scared to get in, I didnt quite trust the dizzying depth of the ocean and the mysterious glow, but I forced my pounding heart to go through with it.
I jumped into the water and I felt like I had just fallen through a layer of ice. The shock stopped my breathing and for a few seconds I was paralyzed, unable to put my snorkel in my mouth, unable to kick for the surface, unable to even close my eyes. I was frozen from the sudden cold, and when I registered what I was seeing, I was frozen from something entirely different as well. I was suspended in space. A million twinkling stars stood still, and all around me was the deepest black I had ever seen, or will ever see. The thick, cold, cold blackness was broken only by little dots of glorious light, so very small but so very bright. I have tried many times to write about the feeling, to name it. No words can fully capture it. I was frozen inside a galaxy.