The Old Man and the Sea

Inspired by a dream I had one night

They crossed the ridge onto the dunes below, the sense of urgency echoed in every footstep. The man took the boy’s hand and pulled him forward, quickening their pace as they neared the salty water. The boy tripped, his feet sunken deep into the sand, but the man continued on, tugging the boy along as he went. The sound of barking in the distance became louder, and in response the man picked the boy up and sprinted to the cliff ledge. He reached down and began searching for loose stones, putting them into his coat pockets. When he seemed satisfied the man stood up, his coat dragging with the weight of the rocks. He motioned for the boy to follow, and proceeded to climb down the cliff. Slowly the boy clambered after him, and the man pointed to the ledge now above their heads. Below the ocean was swirling, as though it were being stirred in a giant soup pot. The man reached up and grabbed hold of the ledge, so that his legs were now dangling above the water. The boy hesitated, glancing towards the ridge where they had come from. Just as he did so, he saw two bloodhounds come tearing down the dunes, men's excited voices not far behind. He quickly reached up and grabbed the ledge, closing his eyes so that he could not see the churning water below. Beside him he felt the man take a deep breath, and then heard a great splash as he hit the water. The boy opened his eyes, looked up into the sunlight, and let his fingers slide off the rock. The water was a cold shock, and the boy's senses heightened as he fell below the surface. A hand from the depths below grabbed his ankle and pulled him down, but the boy did not resist. His feet hit the ocean bottom, and the man took his hand. The rocks weighed the man down, and his firm grip kept the boy’s buoyant body from floating up to the surface. The water they had jumped into was not as deep as they had thought, only about fifteen feet. The boy could see the playful bouncing of the sun's rays off the water, seeming to be just above his head. But no urge to kick off the sandy bottom overcame him. Instead his head was filled with the man's voice, and the words "just like we practiced" repeating over and over again. The boy closed his eyes, allowing the darkness to consume him. There was a faint burning in his lungs but he pushed it aside, allowing the burn to spread throughout his body. Beside him he felt the man's hand go slack, but it was only a faint recognition. He was absorbed in the blackness, letting it steal over and cover his mind, blocking out everything but the dark. Then, as suddenly as it had left, the burn was back, only now intensified to the degree of a fire within his body. His hands automatically reached for his throat, and he struggled to free himself from his darkness. His eyes opened from the pain, salt bursting into the sockets, but that pain was barely felt compared to the burning in his veins. Above him he again saw the whispers of light, calling to him with the promise of oxygen. The boy forgot about the darkness and the man, the years of training and promises. He kicked off the bottom with a fury, his lungs screaming in protest as the flames came closer to his ribcage. The boy let out a cry of anguish, a swarm of bubbles streaming from his mouth instead of words. His head broke the surface, and he felt nothing. Nothing but the relinquishing of the burn, like water was flowing through his veins and putting out the flames. He allowed himself to float on the ocean's surface, and he bobbed along with the waves as he alternately gasped in air and coughed up salty water. His blond hair was like a flare in the ocean, and he saw one of the men along the shore point towards him. And finally, the boy found his voice and screamed.