Its was raining which made no difference to the people of the great city. Only if one swam high near the surface, the daring teenagers and lovers, could one see the mosaic of circles rippling the waves. They'd swim, belly up, looking out at the surface and the pulsating, soft blue light. They let the waves pull them and push them along in the currents path. They breathed the strange gamy taste of the upper layers, thick with oxygen and strange, tiny life, waters warm and odd on their clammy skin. Dizzy and giggling, they soon would tumble back down to more familiar depths, squinting flat eyes as the light levels change and they returned, falling deeper and deeper, to the great city.
They kicked heir pale legs, graceful as frogs, back into its alleys, its streets, its crags sticking from the cliff of bed rock like jumbling teeth. Buildings, great and small flushed the landscape with a variance of texture, shape and size, all in the pale green and grey hues of the deep ocean, and predominantly organic: Towering clusters of corals, built off each preceding layer at jutting angles; tiny shacks of cemented rocks topped with thatched kelps and sea grasses; smooth buildings that shimmered like the iridescent insides of oysters; houses striated like clam shells, their interiors smooth and pink.
The city was expansive, and its peoples swam and slid and scuttled around and between its every crack and doorway, day and night when iridescent bulbs lit the undefined streets and those that iridesced walked the darker ones.