Logophobia

There they are, those blackhearted ghouls. They're still circling, high above me, while I drown. Just a bloated mass of fishy flesh, they squirm and wiggle their way through the now-turbid water, searching for me. I must be nothing, an insignificant speck in comparison, for they cannot see me. We are still conversing, a jaunty, but simultaneously deadly conversation. One verbal mis-step and Davey Jones will have to share his already-cramped apartment with yet another unwelcome visitor. I'm swimming towards the surface now, careful to aim my body so that I can slip past these massive fishes, these carnivores of the mind. I come dangerously close to one, so close that I can see those over-sized scales, those massive teeth, those big, blubbery, foolish lips. Still, he is distracted by my conversation, and I escape to the surface, madly scrambling onto the feeble land, hoping they will not see my exit. Others around me look down and say "my those are some big fish."

"You have no idea."