Floating In Ocean
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The sound of the waves against the shore had long since become familiar, and it was almost comforting. Almost…because there were moments when the ocean was so still that it could be as loud as an airport runway, or when it seemed to roar in a way that made her heart feel as if it would stop beating.
She knew this place by heart after years on end of being here; she knew its moods—its temperaments; she understood what it wanted from her. This is where I’m meant to be, she thought as her head swam with dizziness; where I belong; home.
It’s been so long, though. So many things have changed. It wasn’t all that long ago that this place was nothing but jungle, just like everywhere else along the coast. The people who lived around here then weren’t much different than the ones she saw now; they wore clothes made out of skins, cooked their food over fires, and hunted for fish in the sea.
There were other villages not far away; some closer than others, but none close enough to see clearly. Most of these villages had names that sounded strange and foreign to her ears, although a few were easy enough to pronounce. She could tell which belonged to the giants because those were often larger, more prominent, and farther apart.
The houses built by smaller creatures were usually built right up against one another. These little villages were mostly built by gnomes, trolls, and pixies.
But most important of all, there were no ships. No boats of any kind. Ships meant water travel; traveling by water meant leaving home and going somewhere new, somewhere unknown…and that could mean leaving behind your family forever.
Her family always warned her about how dangerous it could be at sea, especially since pirates were rampant in the area. But she didn’t care, because she wanted to sail the ocean anyway. That was the dream she held deep inside her heart—to someday set off on a boat with her family and find her father.
She imagined the ship her family once sailed on; the tall spindle-shaped hull, the sails billowing in the wind, the smell of salt air. The sun glistened on the waves, turning them into shimmering ribbons of light that danced across the sky.
She could see her mother sitting at the bow, holding hands with her brother while they watched the horizon together; hear the laughter of children as they played under the watchful eyes of their parents, who were probably playing chess or dominoes, drinking wine, eating fresh fruit from their gardens—just like they always did; just like they always would; just like I will again.
This was the vision that came back to her every time she closed her eyes. She knew that someday soon she would get to live it—would see it all with her own eyes; would be able to taste the food, feel the spray of the water on her face; would know exactly what her mother’s laugh sounded like.
Because when she found her father, he’d take her aboard his ship and set off down the coast. He wouldn’t want to stay here; not anymore. They would leave this place behind and start over again, in a place where they belonged…and that place would be called “home.”
***
Inner Demons
The old man’s eyes stared blankly ahead, and his mouth hung slack and empty. His fingers were curled around the hilt of his sword, which rested loosely against his hip; and despite his age, despite his fragile appearance, something primal was driving him forward—a hunger that bordered on madness; a thirst that had never before been quenched.
As he drew closer, she noticed a faint odor of burning oil coming from him, although she couldn’t tell what exactly it was. She felt a sudden urge to run, but she fought the impulse down, knowing that it wouldn’t help her at all. All she needed to do was keep moving toward him—he would come to her, she knew. He could sense her desire.
As he approached, his pace slowed slightly, and the smoke rose from his nostrils, making him appear more menacing; she knew she must fight it or die.
“You,” he said with a deep voice, his words like the growl of an animal in a trap; “you look familiar.”
For a moment, she couldn’t answer. She was too shocked to speak. The question itself was absurd; it didn’t make any sense, not at all. This creature—this beast—was not supposed to be standing before her, not at all. He was only ten years older than she was, and now he stood within arm’s reach.
In fact, he was so close that she could see flecks of ash floating in the air around his head; she could see his skin peeling off like bark, revealing the layer beneath hard, rough, and covered in scales like the bottom of a lizard’s belly. He looked like nothing human, yet it was obvious he was very much alive. But how? And why? And what did this mean for her?
He leaned forward slightly; the muscles in his jaw clenched tightly. “Who are you?”
She hesitated, and then answered quickly—quickly enough to frighten herself. “I…” she stammered “…am Meagan…Mia…I’m just a—”
Before she could finish her sentence, he lunged forward. She saw two things at once, and both shocked her: first, he moved incredibly fast; second, her blade flew out of her hand without warning. For a brief instant, she was sure he was going to attack her; but then a blast of heat shot through her body, sending fire throughout her limbs.
The pain made her gasp, causing the old man to pause for a moment before continuing.
“No,” he said simply, “it is I who am sorry.”
The flame burned away her clothing, exposing her bare body. He reached out and touched her face. It was like touching ice; his fingers passed right through her flesh, and the sensation sent shivers down her spine.
When he pulled his hand back, her skin had completely melted—her hair, her skin—she no longer existed as anything more than a puddle of water on the floor. Then his lips moved, and his tongue licked his palm. She heard the sound of crunching bones. Her head swam. She could hear him laughing.
And then it was over. He turned away, and left her there, lying naked and alone. She watched his figure fade into the distance—saw the way he moved through the room like a shadow—before it finally disappeared entirely.
It took some time for her to find her composure; she sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor and tried to clear her mind, trying to think of anything else but what happened to her, but nothing came to mind.
Finally, she began to wonder whether she should call her brother; perhaps if she told him about this—told him the truth—he might be able to protect her better than she had ever expected. She picked up the phone and dialed his number.
But he wasn’t answering.
That’s strange, she thought; maybe he was in class. After waiting for twenty minutes, though, she knew he couldn’t possibly be in school. She called a friend. She called another acquaintance. No one was home; they weren’t picking up their phones; none of them would pick up. Something was wrong.
Finally, she realized that she was being foolish; no one would know where she lived unless she told them. If anyone were trying to hurt her, then surely it would have already happened, she reasoned. Perhaps it was the old man again; perhaps he’d gotten angry that she hadn’t answered when he called earlier.
Or perhaps someone else had found her—some other demon—but she knew instinctively that it was unlikely. It was just like the old man to come back; the fact that he’d gone away before meant that it was safe for her to relax. It was a little like a nightmare, she decided: it had frightened her, but it was over now.
But that wasn’t true. Not really. Because now she remembered something she had long forgotten: the way the old man smiled. That smile, more than anything, scared her: it was filled with such evil, and now it haunted her dreams.
But worse still was what happened next—what she had done afterward; how she allowed herself to forget—how easy it was for her to let everything slip away until there was no fear in her thoughts or her heart, and nothing to hold onto except the image of that terrible smile—that awful laugh—
“Meagan!” The voice was loud and urgent. She looked around in confusion. She had been dreaming—or perhaps she hadn’t dreamed at all; perhaps the old man was there—
“Meagan!” The voice was louder still; almost violent. “Meagan! You’ve got to wake up.”
She opened her eyes; saw her mother standing above her bed, wearing an expression of concern. She jumped off her bed and hugged her mother tight, burying her face in her shoulder. A moment later, she pulled back, looking at her mother inquisitively.
“What’s wrong?”
Her mother sighed; wiped her eyes. “Meagan, I don’t like you sleeping by yourself anymore,” she explained slowly, “because demons come after girls who sleep alone.” She paused briefly; then added, “And your brother can’t always protect you.”
She felt her stomach drop out from underneath her. She wanted to scream, but suddenly she didn’t have the strength—just the same as last night. It was so hard not to cry again. Instead, she nodded, and held her arms out, asking her mother to put her back in bed. She fell asleep quickly that night—and did not dream.
The End