Roatan

     There's another world under the surface. The sandy ledge gives way to a deep crevice, bordered by coral on either side. The rocky walls are alive with oranges and purples, coiled into brain-like blobs and veiny webs fanning out over the coral. On the bottom, seaweed and depth invite darkness, and small flickers are all that suggest scavenging fish. Bigger fish dart through the coral labyrinth, and a large emerald fish simply holds out its fins and wiggles the edges to slip past my right.

      I can only hear my breathing through the snorkel, mechanical and hollow. In. Out. In. Out. A school of yellow stripes dances beneath my flippers, inviting. I push the last of my air out and spit out the plastic mouthpiece, before sinking beneath the surface and pushing down to meet them. Sudden silence. All sound disappears, lost under the crystalline water. Pressure comes next, just a few more feet under and I can feel it inside my mask, pushing into my eyes, my nose, popping my ears. I kick and swim down farther, until I'm surrounded by the utterly fearless group of fish. They're curious, and bump up around me. 

      I hear soft clicking now, growing louder as I get used to submersion. The reef crackles and pops around me, as fish feed and swim. The silence is gone, completely replaced by underwater chaos.
I look up, and I'm suddenly stuck by how deep I am and the burning in my lungs. For a moment, I'm entranced by the glimmer of reflecting off waves above, and a deep blue all around me, reminiscent of massive aquariums whose glass windows I'd stared through as a child.

     I don't dare kick off, scared of breaking the delicate balance, so I move my legs slowly, together, gently and rhythmically, kicking harder as I get nearer. I hit the surface hard, and gasp for air I didn't know I needed. Bobbing on top again, the world below is completely lost under the shimmering blue of the surface.