The Hand of Leviathan

White was all around him. White infinite sky above him, a turbulent sea below him that his eyes couldn’t see. A fog, as dense as the troubles in his mind, embraced the boat as a sea monster catching prey.

Seven weeks ago, a crew of seven had set sail. Today, one stood at the bow, his gaze on the far away horizon but his sight lost on the white immovable curtain. Wind stroked his face like a lover but it was hate all he felt. Messy beard and long black hair dancing to its song.

Was he going east? Was he going north? Or, was he even moving at all? Everywhere he looked it all looked exactly the same, the wasted remains of once a proud small vessel moved up and down wafting slowly on the waves. Or was it all still? He could not tell.

He was not afraid of drowning. He had been drowning before coming to sea. Her mind was already covered with the eternal fog. He knew who he was, his name, his past, his pains and joys. He knew the dreams he used to have, the future he looked forward to, and the struggle he was ready for. He also knew the truth of life, the deception of dreams and the lie hidden in hope. All that knowledge was his, all that knowledge had placed him in the middle of the calm infinite sea.

“Welcome home”. He turned around and saw a woman, a white smile and black eyes looking at him, her long hair also moved by the wind. She stood there in the middle of the boat, no, he was no longer out on the sea. He looked around, wooden walls around him, a ceiling over him and a stone floor holding his weight. “Everything alright? You seem lost”, he looked at the woman again. Who is she? His wife. Nyrinn. He smiled back, he remembered now.

She turned around and walked away, to a place beyond a wall, or was it fog?, where he could not see her. He felt a little hit on his leg and looked down. A little head rubbed on his leg, he could feel little arms hugging him. Did he have a son? Or was it a daughter? “Papa, did you bring something for me?”, the sweat voice filled his ears like a gulp of honey after bitter food. He didn’t know he needed it until he heard it, and then he knew, this voice was his life.

He then realized, the feeling he had forgotten, he was full of joy. But he knew, joy and pain were forever bound, and the more joy, the greater the pain. His daughter was no more. Wooden walls were not around him and the ceiling was replaced by crying clouds. His face was wet and his body trembling, not of cold but fear. He didn’t know what was going to happen but then he saw, just ahead of him. A door he knew, his door. He walked to it and when he extended his arm to the handle he saw his hand. A cold, high pitched scream filled the world around him. He put both his hands around his head to cover his ears from it, but he could still hear. The world trembled and everything went black, and for many seconds he stood still in the nothingness. Then he realized, his mouth was open, the scream was his. He forced himself to close his mouth and open his eyes. The door was still there, and the world was just the same, except, there were no clouds now, and a fog started to grow around him, a cold fog that made him shiver.

He opened the door. This time, ignoring the dark red stains on his hand. Walking inside it was all darkness. The lamp hanging from the ceiling was on, but its light didn’t reach long before being swallowed by the shadows of the room. He took three more steps before his foot hit something. He turned his head down and saw.

There was no scream this time. No movement and no sound. The pain came back at him all at once and he remembered. He remembered coming home, he remembered opening the door and seeing his family, the bodies who once were his family, laying still in the ground. He remembered holding his daughter, his precious daughter, a slash on her throat and tears still on her eyes. And he remembered the man looking at him from across the room, a cooking knife stabbing his leg and a stream of blood flowing on the floor, creating a path to Nyrinn’s hand.

He was back at the boat now. A chill breeze started to grow and entering through the hole in his pants, made him shiver. He looked back, through the fog he could see, laying on the deck, the six bodies of his companions, all with a slash on their throats. A cooking knife all covered in blood in the middle of all and a stream of blood flowing to the prow, knotting his hands together like a prisoner.

The blood on his hand didn’t help with the pain. Tragedy could not cure the broken but only make it worse. He raised his tied hands in front of him and the fog was gone. A giant monster towered the little vessel just ahead of him. “Leviathan” he whispered. A great tentacle reached to him, like a hand, and as it twisted around him, he remembered once more, and he smiled.