#ocean

Amid the seemingly infinite expanse of the night-shrouded ocean, a solitary fishing boat ventured forth, its journey towards Bunker Island guided by the lone, silvery light of the moon. As the vessel gently rocked on the ebb and flow of the dark waters, its name, the 'Elizabeth Dane,' barely clung to the peeling paint at the stern, a testament to the countless expeditions it had weathered.

“Wanna hear about the weirdest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen in the ocean?” Harvey, the old salt who lived at Neptune’s Net, asked me one night. “Buy me a sip of Cutty Sark, and I’ll tell you something only a handful of people have ever heard, and all of them are dead,” he said, jabbing his finger for emphasis. His gravelly voice gave the ancient mariner a gravitas you wouldn’t expect from a drunk at the end of the bar.

I awake with my body screaming with aches and horrible pain, my head pounding. A hard, stony surface below my sprawled out form greeted my eyes upon sitting up, harsh wind rushed through my hair; sea air by the smell of it. I took my time standing, meticulously moving each of my limbs to ensure stability, despite their shaking protests. The stone was firm and smooth. It wouldn’t crumble if you took a hammer to it; however, the violent gales threaten to throw me off. The howling in my ears…

"Guys, you gotta come see this." Cruz had just popped his head into the cabin where Tiago and I were playing cards. He had a wild look in his eye that Cruz only got when he laid down a winning hand or his horse won big at the track. As we were currently floating in the middle of the ocean on a crab boat, I knew what he wanted to show us had nothing to do with racehorses.