Item #: 9213
Object Class: Safe
Special Containment Procedures: This anomaly does not need containment. There is no way to enter it, no way to exit it, and everyone contained within will remain for as long as the anomaly allows. See description for further info.
Description: SCP-9213 is part of an ocean, probably close to the shore. Further specifying details are not available.
When equipped with a snorkeling kit, a person can enter SCP-9213 from the shore. It is recommended to wait for a moment beforehand, standing; retain the heat of the sand in your mind as you proceed forward. First the feet will be submerged, followed by the knees, the thighs, and there's a lurch when the surface chill reaches your waist, but once some time has passed your body will get used to it. From there, a person can lean forward, let the surface creep up their chest and graze the tip of the chin, before finally submerging the face and letting your toes leave the loose grip of the sand.
Initialization process is complete at this time. Now the subject is guided along by the random ebbings of the tide. Though in the distance the waves seem massive, by the time they reach where you are they have trickled into mere rifts that massage your sides with a ticklish hand. Your legs hang weightlessly in the sunshine-heated water, and the warmth radiates up the nerves to sooth the goosebumps forming where the cold ocean's surface drifts past your unflinching body. On your back, the sun rays tan you, with the light pricking your skin like so many manicure pins. Sometimes, when the tide is a bit stronger than usual, the wavelets will surge at your hair, sides and swimming trunks to lap some sprixies of cool water onto the exposed skin. Then the sun can get right back to work warming you up again.
From the goggles you see the sand bedding under you. It wobbles as you get nudged back and forth, but never enough to make your head spin. It's not that far from the beach, so what you're looking at isn't all that different, the pipe takes some getting used to, and the goggle strap is a bit annoying when you can feel it tap your skin, but those are all just minor inconveniences. Through the light refracting in the wavy topology of tidal ripples softened by the packed water, you can make out the shapes of baby weeds, grey stones, yellow shells and other little curios. It tickles your feet when they brush past. The riffling means you can't quite make out their true form, but it's not like you can look back at yourself to know your true form either, so, touché.
As your body rocks around in here, these sun-settled floats and flows, the rhythm approaches. Your vision picks up on some familiar landmarks in the bedding to anchor onto. The shamble of the ocean and the bobbing of you are patterned, acquaintable, but never the same thing twice. You know the sun moves, and yet now times slows enough that it will not budge. All that remains of the notion of change is the many thousands of ways the weeds seem to flicker and zag as the bubbles formed from the colliding of the splashing and your skin float around aimlessly, here, there, anywhere, joining the ocean-born bubbles as they move on their own trajectories, tangling with a system of H-2-O extending from here past the cliff past the boats on the horizon past the clouds past the ends of the shore past the hotels and the weeds and the trenches and the holes in all ways in all forms up the coldest glaciers and nourishing the hottest deserts because everything is water and everything is hydration and everything is pumping and the water is the earth and the water is here and the water is all around you and you're looking at it. You're looking at the water. The water that does not travel but instead just ebbs. And you know that if you wait long enough, eventually the water you started with will have floated away to the far lands, and new water will have arrived to take its place, to guide and graze and rock your ocean cradle in their steed. And you can stay there. And the sun is the same ball of plasma it has always been.
Your ears are a bit clogged, but you can still hear the sound the water makes when it meets you. The small tune of a rising chord, and maybe sometimes the falling chord of the aqua receding. Those sounds don't change, they never really do.
…
…you're eventually going to get hungry. Thirsty, maybe; for as blue the water may seem, the salt won't do your kidneys any good. Best to just get up, make your way back onto shore (a bit more difficult this time, what with the drenched swimwear weighing you down), and try to find some restaurant or food truck nearby. A restroom might also be in order.
Once you get into your room, you should get out of those clothes as quickly as possible. If you don't, the dirty ocean water will get all over your stuff. Then take a shower, a nice thorough one to get out all the grime.
Don't forget the shampoo, and don't let your hair soak for too long either. Otherwise you might catch a cold.