Looming in the water a significant length away are buoyant objects. They bob, haunting you with every ripple created on the surface, grounded by a cement block and an eerie, slimy chain. Gentle, deceiving colors lure you into their depths. The popular challenge of racing to the buoy is a game I will never participate in. One of my greatest fears is that of buoys. It's not that I have had a terrifying, life-threatening experience with one. It's more the fact that it is an odd, irrational fear that appears to be associated with nothing. I would rather jump off a cliff, feed meat to a tiger, or threaten a homeless man, than approach a buoy. I could stare at that creepy, bobbing object in the water for hours on the beach, wondering what lies beneath it. What is beyond the descending chain of peril? Is the bottom immersed in lake weed, or does it lead to a new world lurking in the depths of the lake? Once while camping, my best friend and I were floating lackadaisically on air mattresses, letting the waves carry us to a new destination. It was then that we approached a buoy. I am positive that the people on the beach thought someone was drowning. Curious, worried faces turned my way as piercing screams filled the summer air. After a panic attack and some hysterical laughter from my best friend, we approached the shore. It's hard to explain to someone the significance of an irrational fear. I'm not afraid of being made fun of. However, I am afraid of buoys. Stick and stones WON'T break my bones, but buoys will certainly be the death of me.
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