Medusozoa

He slid on the face mask and the snorkel, and his swimming pad on his feet. He walked to the edge of the boat and leaned back.

The splash of water as the deep blue liquid washed all over him was wondrous, as always.

Water clouded his vision like crystal, clear, but eerily distorted. Beautiful.

He kicked his feet, his arms reaching out, his eyes searching. A few miles deep and he found his target. Medusozoa, or jellyfishes.

Jellyfishes were once one of the main spotlights of Golden Bay. Large swathes of them. Covered in squishy, soft, translucent umbrellas of varying sizes, floating along peacefully with the current, contracting and relaxing, in and out. At a distance, the flocks of tourists that came every summer would not have known the danger that lurked beneath the deadly tentacles that struck electricity.

But this was the beauty of life, of nature, brutal, unforgiving, yet irresistibly attractive. He thought.

He caught of the too-milky-white Now-jellyfish mid-motion easily with his fingers. It crumpled. Seawater gushed out. There was no need for protective gloves. They were boringly safe.

He killed another one of them. He realized. Not that it mattered. He could bet on his life that at any moment thousands of them were entering the ocean. Their reproduction rate have always been high, and growing in exponential numbers. But. He was a marine biologist, as he reminded himself bitterly. It was extremely unethical to kill more than what was necessary for study.

If he could convince himself that they were living, breathing organisms. If.

He watched the jellyfish with two white loops on either side on its opening sink. The lifespan of Now-jellyfishes were another aspect that changed completely. Some stayed for several months. Some drifted to the depths of the sea for within minutes. Once at the bottom of the ocean floor, they would enter a state of mere existence for thousands of years before it disappeared.

How dreadful. He thought.

It had not been many years before, if he counted off his fingers. Only the huge contrast and loss made it seem longer than it really was.

It was hard to believe the Then-jellyfishes had become a nighttime fable he would read to his son when he had seen all of them with his very own eyes, and collected bits of skin to study their cells under a microscope. Back then, jellyfishes were always what his Professor at university had taught him. Medusozoas. 

It came slowly. Slowly but determinedly. Lots of warning signs had been give off before the Final Doom.

Maybe he should have joined the protests with the environmentalists dressed up as all kinds of sea creatures on the hot, baking street, wrestling with the brutal police forces instead of drinking bottled sodas in front of the television.

Maybe the bottle that floated in front of his eyes right now was the one he'd drunk from.

Maybe he should have done more. Maybe.

It was theirs, including his, doing and not doing, after all.