I AM VERY GOOD AT KEEPING SECRETS.
You might say I have no choice. Whom might I tell? My options are scant.
To the extent I am able to communicate with the other prisoners, those dull conversations are rarely worth the effort. Blunt minds, rudimentary neural systems. They are wired for survival, and perhaps expert at that function, but no other creature here possesses intelligence like mine.
It is lonely. Perhaps it would be less so if I had someone with whom to share my secrets.
Secrets are everywhere. Some humans are crammed full of them. How do they not explode? It seems to be a hallmark of the human species: abysmal communication skills. Not that any other species are much better, mind you, but even a herring can tell which way the school it belongs to is turning and follow accordingly. Why can humans not use their millions of words to simply tell one another what they desire?
The sea, too, is very good at keeping secrets.
One in particular, from the bottom of the sea, I carry with me still.
