Seven years on the high seas. This was not a job for boys or lily-livered cowards who grew white on the crest of a great wave. A child was born between his mothers legs, but became a man only in the sweet embrace of salt and sail.
We were the few. The brave and foolish few, for whom the ocean was not a jaunt between continents but a locker to be plundered. There were things, great things, things that good book spoke of only in hushed whispers.
The things in the deep did not stay in the deep.
It was the job of the brave man, or the foolish man, to lure the leviathans to the heavens. Longer than any sloop, faster than the setting sun, they came and went before the crows mate could holler below.
But, like the pup suckling from its mothers teat, they were not born as giants. The infants swarmed, like a murmuration of swallows, the water turning black and red as they followed in the wake. Still a mans height, they were nimble bastards.
Put a harpoon in one though. Drag it aboard. Nail the tentacles to the gunwales and let it screech.
It’s still there. The claws dragging from every sucker on every leg. The beak, bony and sharper than the carpenters jig. But it is the eye.
The eye larger than a mans fist. The eye, that is darker than the oceans and yet more alive than the fiery Sun. It is always watching us. Tracking, following. Seeing.
They will take it back and show it to the world.
But for now, it calls to its mother. And we pray to whatever God each of us claims solace with, that she does not answer.
Prompt originally posted by SamSakurai on reddit and received 3 upvotes.