Paige Cavaness
The water glistens on top, reflecting a slate grey sadness that only comes when turmoil is brewing under the surface. It is frigid, yet men sail it. A vast expanse to be discovered off the coast of Scotland where only mist and drunkards dare navigate. The North sea, nearly as terrifying and starved as he who lurks beneath the surf. . . nearly. Boats coughing up smoke and gasoline fumes that only add to his ravaged home. Sailors guffaw and inhale nicotine from their deathly pleasures as they totter along the sea, unsuspicious and unsuspecting. They’ve heard the stories, ignored the rumors, discarded the lore. Twenty deaths in the last two months must not have been a coincidence surely? One speaks. The other, intoxicated on spirits or his own arrogance lets loose a guttural laugh. No coincidence, he chortles. Just sheer stupidity on the water. Waters like these can gobble a person up, if they don’t keep their wits about em’, he states, all knowing. For they are human, how could they not be all knowing? How could they be wrong about what lurks in the depths and dances with the icy current? Deemed top of the food chain by none other than themselves, how could anyone mistake them for trivial? They know they are almighty, for they tell themselves so. They do not put stock in the thought of me.
In far more than twenty deaths, chalked up to the brutality of the salty brine or the razor of a thunderous storm slitting the throats of many.
Light another cigarette and throw down the anchor, another voices. The fishing looks good here, an older fellow chants. If only he knew what so desperately pined for their anchor.
Meanwhile, deep under where even the slimiest of urchins refuse to travel, I sit. I wait. My scales caress the threads of chilled seaweed as I slither forth, following the bubbles protruding from a cast anchor. Knotted and oil-sodden rope suspends in the water and draws taut. I’ve found them. Then again, they announced themselves by delivering the crusted weight to my seafloor. Moronic, foolish, irresponsible– a whole list of vile invectives flood my mind.
I expand my great wings and push forward in the water. It used to be so peaceful here. Quite, unobtrusive. And then the water started to taste rancid, like fish infected with rot. When my forked tongue assaulted the atmosphere, I learned to quickly halt my instincts. The once delicious refreshment of my environment had been soured. Toxified. Molested.
It took me years to discover the source. And it now hovers not three miles above my horned head.
Almost lovingly, I coil myself around the anchor. The putrid odor of oil and pollutants singes my nose. Glancing up, my eyes tearing unnoticably in the murky filth around me, I see myself reflected on the bottom of their vessel.
Great, black talons attached to great black hands. A long, ravishing tail, pointed with a blade-like embellishment, perfect for shredding and stabbing. Massive, orderly alignments of scales down my body. Enormous golden eyes resembling liquefied gold, shocking against the obsidian shadow of the rest of my body. Wings, so long in length that they dwarf the sail-ship above me. I have lived millennia only to watch ramparts from frivolous battles rain down and crush the creatures who have been here since the first dawn of the first day; I have tasted the flesh of Vikings who raped and pillaged as man now does onto my very dwellings. I have been asphyxiated by both the blood of men and the blood of boats for far, far too long. How inherently preposterous humans are to believe a creature as ancient and wise as I does not exist and loath them.
Slowly, my reflection on the boat’s bottom magnifies my horned head as I speed closer. Above, the chatter continues, piercing my ears. Talk of more boating trips that will not happen, of more pollution dumped upon my home, of more plague sickening the very place that has been mine from the beginning, of cocky insults stating nothing like myself exists. How dare they, how dare they, how dare they…
I break the surf and capsize the boat.
Sea foam sprays around me as I let myself be seen, watch the horror in the men’s eyes as they realize I am real and I am here. Without hesitation, I bite one man in half. He screams; I smile. The water bloodies.
When it is finished, I submerge myself once again amongst the nebulous bottom of the sea. With a full belly and satisfaction at another poison terminated, I settle down to rest.
In the distance, the buzz of a motor approaches.