Vast is the sea that roams across the planet Earth, covering almost 70 percent of it, splashing lively with life. The skies above me are the beautiful paintings that paints my view with ever-changing yet not mundane patterns, aurora beams are my favourite, they are wavy like me, but they are have more splendor than me. Beneath me is the depths of the waters, light rarely illuminates the world under me, but whatever that was shed light to was enigmatic and special in their own ways.

I am a grain of salt, floating aimlessly in the sea, waiting for the waves to bring me on their little adventures. Waves are my best friends, they bring me to see how the sea is. I am thoroughly amazed when I see something new every day.

One day, I was harvested by a fisherman, separated from the sea once and for all. After being scooped up by him, I was poured into a wide container with many of my kind, they were from various places and was speaking different languages and having different mindsets. I could not fit in at first but I managed to make some friends here and there. However, the strange thing that happened was my friends kept changing from time to time, one day it would be Jenny, another it would be Jonathan, and another would be Kenneth, and I could never meet them again, as if they come and go just like that.

It was fun meeting new friends, but it was not as fun as discovering the sea with the waves. As days went by, I got fed up with making new friends, and I silence myself to observe my surroundings as I had never done so. Everything around me feels the same and having some sort of conformity, I felt as if I was locked in a box, literally.

As I was taking in my surroundings, I was scooped up by the fisherman and placed in a plastic container with a bunch of other grains of salt. This was a dryer place compared to the previous, I was starting to take on a crystalline form, as well as those who were around me. The fisherman gathered more salt to fill the container to the brim.

After he was done with filling up the container, we were brought to a place where there were pots and pans and food items to be cooked. We were placed right next to the stove. It was hot at certain times of the day, and some of us would be grabbed out by the fisherman to be thrown into their cookings.

I was at the top quarter of the container, so my wait would not be short nor long as compared to those at the bottom. We were not shaken around a lot, so I got to hang around the same grains of salt for quite a number of weeks. As the days went by, the air became lighter and the impending doom was looming around us. The act of the fisherman meant differently to us as it meant casting us out of this container, away from the familiarities that we live in into the unknown.

The days that went by were the same, the fisherman stirs up something nice, sometimes it smelled bad, and grabs us by his fingers and tosses us into the pit of unknown. You might see fire if you are lucky but most of the times it was just the heat that was unbearable but I got used to most of the things- almost numb. I chatter around the same grains of salt every day, talking about the same things over and over again, until I made it into a routine.

Am I excited to get out? Nope, I was not surprised at all. I might feel a little sad that I had to leave the grains of salt behind to begin the next phase of my life. This was not something unexpected, but something predictable.

I got picked up by the fisherman on a beatific morning. Fear started to grip me as I was grabbed and tossed into the unknown. It was a plate of yellowish quagmire, constantly stirred by the fisherman. As I plunged into the runny pile of goo, I was instantly transformed into a million arms that held the goo together. The temperature was hellish, I thought I was going to die for a second, but I solidified as one with the runny goo, and was stacked into a pile on a plate, carried away by the fisherman.

As I was looking around from the plate, I got to see the fisherman close up, he was at his 60s, with a well-grown moustache and a lean tanned body, much like any other fisherman. He entered a shade and placed us down on a table. Across the table was a little man, resembling the fisherman, eager to do something.

The young boy scooped up a large chunk of the egg and shoved it into his mouth and screamed ‘delicious!’. What the fuck just happened? I thought to myself and tried not to panic. The fisherman gave a pat unto the young boy’s head as he spooned himself a scoop of it and did the same thing as the boy. I was shivering in fear, I did not know what to do and what I could only do is to wait for that process to take place.

“Daddy, why does the food that you cook tastes so good?” the boy asked inquisitively as they stopped eating the eggs. I could take a breather and listen to what they were conversing about.

“It’s because of the sea salt that daddy harvest every day.” the fisherman replied.

“What’s a sea salt, dad?”

“It is what make your food salty and tasty, my little child.” At least I know my purpose is to make food tasty, acting as a seasoning for a meal.

“What if salt is not salty anymore?”

There was a long pause between the fisherman and the boy.

“It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.” the fisherman dully answered the boy.

“How can you make it salty again?”

The fisherman could not answer this time, he scooped up the eggs, fed the boy and said, “We can’t, we just need to enjoy this season before it becomes no more.” I just realised that I was in the spoon, I was being chewed into pieces and swallowed into the boy’s body.

It was painless yet painful at the same time. Luckily, it was quick.

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