The birth of Slovie; or, beachball underwater

Subtitle: The retelling of Slovie’s birth has been passed down through countless generations; oral and narrative histories coalesce when applicable and break down, becoming fiction, when not. To say this is to remind you that your personal telling of Slovie’s birth and rebirth may not be grounded in reality. Ultimately, the means to the end don’t matter. The bulk of the story is effectively meaningless, as once Slovie erupted, the point had been made and the die had been cast. The changes became irreversible. This is the story of that eruption.

One beautiful summer day on the Lopar peninsula, an unnamed family slowly drove down the mile-long coastline searching for a spot on the beach where they could relax and enjoy the water. In tow, the family brought the usual beach-specifics: towels, sandwiches, sunblock, umbrellas, changes of clothes, and most importantly, a beautiful, brand new, firm and full of air, beach ball. Almost immediately upon finding a spot to enjoy the beach, the beach ball was in the air, being knocked around from family member to family member, each person having a better time than the individual who hit the ball prior.

It could’ve been the vibrant yellow sheen of the beach ball or the infectious laughs of the family itself, but moments after the family began playing with the beachball, the entire beach was starting to watch. Children and parents alike began watching the floating beachball expectantly, following its trajectory with a combination of youthful glee and grave nostalgia.

In mere seconds, the beachball became the center of the peninsula’s universe. Every individual at the beach stopped what they were doing and made their way to the family playing with the beachball. As the migration began, all that could be heard was the hurried stamp of footsteps as hundreds of beachgoers rushed toward the beachball family. That said, once the other beachgoers had positioned themselves to best watch the family play, the beach went totally silent. All a man could hear that fateful summer day was the sounds of the waves gently lapping against the shore and the gentle presses of open hands against the curved yellow skin of the beachball.

Suddenly, one voice within the silent, pious crowd rang out.

“Let’s put that thing underwater. Let’s put that freaking beach ball under the water right now.”

And with that, the silence was cut short. An eruption of cheers, jeers, shouts, and milquetoast neoliberal battlecries took its place. The endless respect shown to the family evaporated in the same moment, and the familiar stamps of footsteps started again as every beachgoer hurdled toward the family and their beautiful beachball. The small family was easily outnumbered and the beachball torn from their soft palms.

The crowd, beachball in tow, rushed toward the water. An amalgamation of beachgoers, a flash of flapping skin and weathered bathing suits all waded out a few feet into the ocean and with one loud grunt, attempted to shove the beachball underwater.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t easy. The beachball wouldn’t cooperate, it’s smooth skin made it hard to hold and the air packed inside the plastic made it nearly too buoyant to go under. Undeterred, the mass of beachgoers continued trying until the sheer number of individuals fighting against the beachball were finally able to force it about a foot underwater.

Silence resumed. The beachgoers took turns keeping the beachball underwater while the other participants watched with looks of undeniable pleasure. After nearly six hours, one of the men holding the beachball underwater looked up and said “it doesn’t want to be underwater anymore.” Immediately, the individuals closest to the beachball lept into action. Men and women alike started throwing themselves on top of the beachball, swimming underneath it and attempting to bring it further under the water, and for a few moments, it worked.

That is, until it didn’t. At first, only a few of the closest beachgoers noticed the change in the beachball. The men and women doing their best to keep it under watched as its color changed from a vibrant yellow to a glowing, almost effervescent gold. The shaking wasn’t immediately noticed, as the individuals holding onto the beachball likely assumed it was just vibrations from other individuals trying to keep it under, but after a brief moment, the vibrations were too extreme to attribute to anything human.

Suddenly, the beachball erupted.

Every hand touching the beachball burst into flames. The people closest to the ball were pushed back dozens of feet, some further into the ocean, some towards the beach. The water surrounding the beachball began to boil and as the beachgoers ran away and shouted cries of confusion and incredulity, something new arose from the water.

Slowly, a golden yellow orb lifted itself from the water. Slove was born.