Edric Lucerne

The Whaler's Fear

A man sits up, eyes bloodshot and sunken. The smell of sweat and alcohol hangs heavy in the air. Sunrays come in through the window, unassured if that means safety or despair. The cool black sky of night looms heavy on the soul, but the bright light of day is a good way to see something you don't want to. The man stares blankly forward recalling the dream he had just burst up from. He remembers a ship, a ship sailing east, going towards the horizon. Then, a rendition of something mad, something horrific, an amalgam from below that had ripped the boat under. No matter how much drink, how much cocaine, it was still vivid and he was still tired. It had been days, maybe even a few weeks of this torment. He lays back down, running his hands through matted hair. All he could do was hope it never showed back up.