Fishy Fish

I'm a small fish in a sea of self-doubt and uncertainty, traversing the coral reefs for the first time, alone and with noone to guide me. But I look back and there are my little fishy friends waiting for me if I decide to turn back. Bravely I glide along the sides of the coral, seeing nothing in front of me but more coral. Along every turn, more coral, yet I realize that at any point there could be a predator waiting in his own domain. I swim like this for minutes until I think it will never end. I grow fearful and lost, but there it's too late to turn back. I pick up the pace, intending to escape this unknown environment, but the coral continues to materialize around each turn. I think I hear something and I catch a glimpse of a disturbance nearby. The sound of flowing water grows hollow in my ears, as I strain to hear any traces of the predator. I swim away from where I think he could be, but I only manage to get myself more lost. Up. Left. Right. Down. Left. I bob and weave my body through tight passages, and the water in my gills feels dead to me. If the predator wants me, he could have me at any time. This could be my last moment. I push through tirelessly and feel the burn. Suddenly, I break free of the city of coral and emerge into a beautiful view of seas of other fish swimming and families of crabs walking single file along the sandy bottom. That's when I know I've made it to safety, and everything is going to be alright. But moments before, I never saw this coming. I remembered that moment when I considered giving up and surrendering to the monster, but I had brushed it off for the snatches of hope I had still in me. It had paid off. The waters before me are sometimes perilous and risky, and often you need that bit of reassurance before you realize it's going to be okay. And the small choices you make to get through the journey don't matter in the end. A left or a right still moves you forward; it won't matter how you got there.