Assignment #3, One Month Late

The pelicans are dying. The world is dying. One mile off the coast of Cape Cod, we are re-building.
The message is being passed through our number that we are the new beginning. The health of the Earth is channeled through our numbers, which are dwindling.
Until this moment, I have been preaching the Evolution. We are the Goddess’ response to the spreading inedible masses. There is no shame in our position. We are devoured by all and nourish all. The creatures of the land, sea, and sky depend upon us.
Now I am being carried through the air, carried in the mouth of one of the second stages of our growth. I am confident in the diligence of my followers to spread my message.
This should not be taking so long. I knew this moment would come, when I would be carried skyward. I would not be one of those taken deep below. We both ascend and descend and the two are ultimately indistinguishable. My dreams, however, were of a single moment in the sky.
This moment seems endless. I am experiencing the sky as darkness and the water is carried along with me. Survivors have told me about this pre-death condition. I have no room to swim and no light to see. I pray that my deliverer does not lose me. My time has come.
Hours pass. I have drifted in and out of sleep. My nightmares consist of a question: Does anyone want anchovies on their salad?
These words mean nothing to me. I am conscious of the loss of my earliest memories. I remember my final sermon, but none of the experiences I mention.
I am still flying. The sun is rising outside of the pelican’s beak. Light fills my chamber until it becomes transparent. I know that I must have been digested. I have fulfilled my destiny. I have nourished the second stage. And yet I am aware only of my flight.
The pelican’s wings begin to tire. Before long, I feel our landing. My talons cling to rotting wood. I call to my companions. We are home.