The Ocean That Crackled Red

In one way or another, there was an ocean that was deemed unkind from a being— not a god nor a monster or even a person. For what was their name there was no answer. Nobody knew about this story because mythology found a way to bury him under the many golden boys and girls who were destined by their prestige and nobility who got in first before him. His name was Desmond, but only because an European nurse in his childhood found his name too much of a word to vocalize so much that he was stripped of it entirely.

Desmond was an old, African man living in a young boy's body. Desmond had little to no mobility in his limbs until the gods granted him movement which he was told often not to use for anything but complete obedience to America when he was destined to be sent off. Desmond had an frail, utterly sickly figure, yet could run at unimaginable speeds with never before seen agility of his age. He would be admitted to clinics and wards, the nurses begging the others to give him various treatments which would do nothing to better his sickly appearance but round out his belly and chest to an pudgy state.

Eventually, he gained muscles all over akin to an average man, but his stomach remained gelatinous, like jelly on a plate awaiting consumption. Despite his round appearance, he was just as athletic if not more than the ones smaller than him. By then, he had grew to almost 6 inches, leaving him to retreat to the woods due to the lack of housing available for him.

In the woods there was an abundance of vegetation, water, and meat awaiting for him. In the weeks he had retreated to nourishing his body and hiking for shelters, no urges struck him after the amount he had eaten to relieve himself. The food just went underneath his waist instead, which made him look rounder than he really was. Desmond traveled to surrounding ponds to hydrate, which if he had finally gotten the urge would just make his situation worse. By then, he had vaguely heard of an entity lurking between where people would take food and water for themselves.

If the animals go rabid when humans steal their food, they could probably smell my scent from faraway. Wouldn't be my best idea--- unless I want to be their food.

Instead, he used his time learning the philosophical manifestos of his ancestors alongside what he already knew long ago. He would clamor over the books on the grass and in a cabin which he perched outside in a tent near the water.

On a full moon, the weeks upon eating and drinking water had caught up to him. He stopped hiking to substitute for staying in the tent instead. Losing his appetite more and more, he stopped eating entirely and shed off the weight he had gained from treatment. Sleep started coming onto him into a state of near hibernation. The water was still and quiet, letting the moon glance at it when it got some time.

The next month he awoke to realize that the water was still there. And so he bathed in it until he had shrunk many inches. The cabins were now open. Finally! I can live away from the dirtiness of the wild and live like a true civilian!

Obviously that had to wait because latrines and bathroom stalls of all types were open for him--- and it was becoming too unbearable to wait much longer. A short voyage later, he found a secluded outhouse--- leaving him to finally finish the rest of his studying and care for his needs which had been severely neglected.

He walked off later to go back to where the cabin was. Considering the tranquility of the water that struck his vision, His mind was fluttering with murky memories suddenly, leaving him at first confused. First, he lost his first memory, the memories of the hospital that took him in. He slowly forgot how the treatment felt, his body swelling into fat and muscle. He crouched down as his head throbbed against his tender temples. He got back up, stumbling into the water and stripping. But now, he wasn't wading. He was draped under the water.

The ocean crackled like firecrackers in the sky, turning an acrid orange as he sank further into it. His vision became less clear, only seeing flashes of light against his irises. He had his head above water, his throat pushing every bit of stomach acid he had to fall down his mouth. The river continued to pop and sizzle as the rest of his memories faded away. Bubbles turned into boiling hot water scalding his skin in which he bit his bile soaked lip. His hands were doused with hot water, which left him crawling under the water to gasp for air.

His stomach was empty, hollow yet rancid inside. The water rose above his head, and he was under it with the rest of his sickly bile mixed into it. To survive he had learned to breathe underwater and swim just like anybody could. Except the water was rising too deeply to swim out of with his stripped away strength.

The river glowed a cherry red as he sunk deeper into the water, his body collapsing under the weight of the water. Many agonizing minutes later, he was under. And then, all the features of life had gone away in front of his eyes. But he didn't see darkness after light. The water had floated his body back up for the rest of the world to see. By the time he woke up--- which he didn't want to happen--- he wasn't down under the water.

***

He had been beached like a dead whale but still alive. Only now he realized his name was no longer Desmond. An fair-skinned woman pulled him up from the water, putting her face against his bare chest. His heart thumped against her flushed face. An angelic, kind voice woke him up.

Get a knife and a spear. Mr. Westchief will be with you shortly. Welcome to Louisiana. But no celebration will be to congratulate your appearance. Somebody special has brought you to us. Prepare to be taught. Prepare to be tested. Prepare to abandon him for it, and nothing more. You'll be with us. It'll be an adjustment, but you'll get over it. Just make sure you know where you are, because nobody has many rights to tell you otherwise.

THE END