Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.
Three hearts
Harper Grant, 15, Chelsea
Octopuses have three hearts. I’ve been told that I do too. Is it the way I look at you or the way I listen? Is it how I place my hand on your shoulder or how I smile? I don’t think I try to hide myself the way an octopus does, and I certainly don’t have the tentacles to show off. But everything about the octopus seems familiar.
The skin that changes color at will to help them hide. They’ll bury themselves in the sand just to be safe. That has to be uncomfortable, right? I’m sure they don’t exactly like it, but there are dangers around. The octopus is as much prey as it is predator, and their flexibility is both a blessing and a curse. Great for getting around and hiding out, but so easily breakable it’s funny. How much of me is in that skin?
The eyes that watch their surroundings for prey. Looking for the perfect chance to strike while hidden under a rock. How long do they wait just to eat? The ocean is littered with fish, shrimp and crabs for them to eat, but how many tries does it take just for one bite? That has to be exhausting, spending all day waiting to replenish the energy spent on waiting. When do they even have time to sleep? With those eyes that always watch for a chance that they may not even take. How much of me is in those eyes?
And of course, those three hearts. Two pump blood to the gills to pick up oxygen, and the other
takes that blood and spreads it to the rest of the body. When an octopus swims, its third heart stops. Is that why they crawl? Even if they’re slower crawling, they can’t live a life of swimming. They’ll die. So they crawl, at the price of slowness. At least it won’t be their own fault if harm comes to them. At least they can say they were careful.
So, I guess I have to ask now. How much of me is in those hearts?
