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.

The next day the man looked out his window towards the sea, looking out east from a small whaling island. They had been there for decades, but his newly found problem was never recorded before. not even the older fisherman have an inkling about his predicament. Had they angered something below? Has something sprung up from the depths? Suddenly, the man had a thought. A book his brother had read stuck out in his mind, "Moby Dick", a recent title, but very prominent due to his job being a whaler and all. He thought he should write to his brother, ask if he heard of any news back home about sea monsters and hope he may get a boat out of here. With that, he grabbed some paper and began to write. Having a task had taken his mind off the troubles he was having, if only for a little while.

Over the next few days the man hoped and hoped the letter would reach his brother soon, he needed answers, anything to justify what he saw days before. He was already out of booze and a shipment wasn't coming in for quite some time. Cocaine didn't help him f Maybe he could ask some of the others around the island if he could have theirs? He left that thought when he heard thunder crack though the sky. Looking through the window, he saw the darkened clouds and crackling lightning coming his way. He knew it would be time to board the windows and make sure the house was secure. Nails and boards lay scattered around the room while the man did his best to batten the house down. He was tired, too tired to swing for long. After around an hour of boarding the windows he came to a stopping point and dropped the hammer. looking towards his bed he felt relief and was about to lay down, but that's when he looked up and realized the window. That same window with the same view, the dreaded view of the ocean. He grabbed the hammer vigorously and began boarding the window till there was no more sight of the outside world.

Waking up from the thunderous booms outside. The man realized he passed out while finishing his task. he looked up at the window and to his delight it was fully covered. The man stood up from the floor and began looking around for his alcohol, not remembering he had run out. He searched the ice box, the cabinets, even under the bed, but no luck was had. Filled with anger and determination, he rushed out the door, there was someone close by, maybe a five minute walk? So he started through the rain, mumbling to himself that he needed more drink to make it through the night. However, he had not accounted for how long he was passed out. The paths were muddy and his shoes kept sinking in a few centimeters, but he kept on going. Trudging up the path, the man slips and falls to his knees. Now covered in mud and cold, he becomes angry again, pounding the ground with clenched fists, hating the way he felt, the way he was right now. So he looked down the hill, towards the sea. Rushing forward down the slope, being careful not to lose his footing, his feet hit the wetted sand. He gained some composure and began running and drawing the knife he had hidden away in its sheath.

Looking on with dread, the man held as much fear back as he could. The thundering claps and the beat of his heart thumping like a war drum, he waited. He waited and waited for the arrival of the beast, The thing that started this, and the thing that must now end it. Frantically looking up and down the beach, he spots two things, a boat, and the whaling spears leaned up against it. He scrambles for the vessel, not even thinking about the storm. After reaching the boat he grips a spear in his hands, his eyes lit up with determination. He looks to the boat and hopes he has the strength to launch it to sea. Pushing and straining, he feels the boat give way. Slamming, pushing, hoping it will enter the water fully, he trips and realizes it has made it. Lunging for the lip of the boat, he hoists himself in.

Sailing out, the man scans the ocean with his eyes, sees the island behind him and smirks. He has escaped, and it's time to face the music. Taking control of the ship and setting it up for a straight shot east, the man feels his chest tighten. The past few days have been nothing but pain and misery, but he has taken control back. A glimmer of hope has etched it's way back into the mans world. He will find his peace, even if he dies trying.

Back on the Island, The neighbor of the man sits in a chair in his cliffside home. He hears a large thunderclap and looks towards the sea, only to notice a faint light headed outward. He stood up to see out the window a bit better. As he watched, he saw the light shimmer and flicker as it slowly went over the Oceans horizon, never to be seen again.