A jellyfish, if you watch it long enough, begins to look like a heart beating. It doesn’t matter what kind: the blood-read Atolla with its flashing siren lights, the frilly flower hat variety, or the near-transparent moon jelly, Aurelia aurita.
It’s their pulse, the way they contract swiftly, then release. Like a ghost heart – a heart you can see right through, right into some other world where everything you ever lost has gone to hide.
Jellyfish don’t even have hearts, of course – no heart, no brain, no bone, no blood. But watch them for a while. You will see them beating.
I’d always thought they would come for me at night, but it was the hottest part of the day when the six men rode onto the plain.