DEFI DOK SCOUPAL FRANCE

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datatime: 2022-09-25 15:49:05 Author:LjnDShRX

It was that bastard scaring the squid away. Damned thing prob'ly rustin' into the sea, and the squids taste the rust and go back down for the sweeter depths. He had seen the thing wedged onto the reef, and he'd marveled at its size. He'd never seen a boat like that before, all tight and sealed shut. How did the captain breathe, or any of the crew? Damn, but it was a mystery His wife hadn't wanted him to go out this morning, but in all of twenty years only the storms had kept him from squidding. No damned rusting shell was going to scare him off, he'd told her. "And besides," he'd said, "the thing is dead." "No, no," she'd told him, "you don't know nothin' about it. I was here then. You don't know 'cause you came after it was over and done."

Abruptly the fisherman turned his gaze away.

On Kiss Bottom, surf surged in around the hulk, hammering at iron, foaming in and then back, again and again. A dog howled in the village, and another began barking, brokenly, in answer.

There were less than two hours until first light, and the fat squid that usually rose around Kiss Bottom at this time of the morning were nowhere in sight. He had caught what he could, mesmerizing the fish with the beam of a flashlight and then scooping them out, twisting and coiled, with a net. He could tell time by the rise of the squids, and in twenty years of foraging them from the reef that clock had never been off. Where were they this morning? He sat back in the stern, seeing the huge angled shape just ahead, hearing the soft thunder of the sea around it.

"No need. I be all right. You ever want to see me again I'll be down by the tavern somewhere, but I figure to be leaving here soon." As he approached her she reached out and touched his hand. It was as cold and hard as stone. She smiled again, showing teeth sharpened by chewing sugar cane, and then she was gone out the door and along High Street. She headed for the dark village below, keeping her eyes away from the thing lying across the reef. For a long while Moore stood in the doorway and watched her walk away, knowing she'd be okay but wishing all the while he'd gone with her just so that he could be with someone. And then he couldn't see her anymore and he closed the door.

"Hey You leave them be"

It was that bastard scaring the squid away. Damned thing prob'ly rustin' into the sea, and the squids taste the rust and go back down for the sweeter depths. He had seen the thing wedged onto the reef, and he'd marveled at its size. He'd never seen a boat like that before, all tight and sealed shut. How did the captain breathe, or any of the crew? Damn, but it was a mystery His wife hadn't wanted him to go out this morning, but in all of twenty years only the storms had kept him from squidding. No damned rusting shell was going to scare him off, he'd told her. "And besides," he'd said, "the thing is dead." "No, no," she'd told him, "you don't know nothin' about it. I was here then. You don't know 'cause you came after it was over and done."

Silence. The sea, the breezes whining around broken railings.

There were less than two hours until first light, and the fat squid that usually rose around Kiss Bottom at this time of the morning were nowhere in sight. He had caught what he could, mesmerizing the fish with the beam of a flashlight and then scooping them out, twisting and coiled, with a net. He could tell time by the rise of the squids, and in twenty years of foraging them from the reef that clock had never been off. Where were they this morning? He sat back in the stern, seeing the huge angled shape just ahead, hearing the soft thunder of the sea around it.

"Funny things, things I don't understand so good. It's made some of them afraid, and there's a lot of whisperin' goin' on."

"Are you afraid of it?" he asked.

Abruptly the fisherman turned his gaze away.

On Kiss Bottom, surf surged in around the hulk, hammering at iron, foaming in and then back, again and again. A dog howled in the village, and another began barking, brokenly, in answer.

"No need. I be all right. You ever want to see me again I'll be down by the tavern somewhere, but I figure to be leaving here soon." As he approached her she reached out and touched his hand. It was as cold and hard as stone. She smiled again, showing teeth sharpened by chewing sugar cane, and then she was gone out the door and along High Street. She headed for the dark village below, keeping her eyes away from the thing lying across the reef. For a long while Moore stood in the doorway and watched her walk away, knowing she'd be okay but wishing all the while he'd gone with her just so that he could be with someone. And then he couldn't see her anymore and he closed the door.

"Underwater," he said. "Other than that I don't know."

There was a manta ray sailing across the moon.

She paused, then smiled awkwardly, but the smile was quickly gone. "I've never seen nothin' like it before. But... I don't know. Mebbe. A closed-up thing like that, as huge as it is, like something from a bad night. I get chills thinking about it." She watched him, seeing his gaze go through her as if she were invisible. She picked up her purse. "I should go."

It was that bastard scaring the squid away. Damned thing prob'ly rustin' into the sea, and the squids taste the rust and go back down for the sweeter depths. He had seen the thing wedged onto the reef, and he'd marveled at its size. He'd never seen a boat like that before, all tight and sealed shut. How did the captain breathe, or any of the crew? Damn, but it was a mystery His wife hadn't wanted him to go out this morning, but in all of twenty years only the storms had kept him from squidding. No damned rusting shell was going to scare him off, he'd told her. "And besides," he'd said, "the thing is dead." "No, no," she'd told him, "you don't know nothin' about it. I was here then. You don't know 'cause you came after it was over and done."

Strands of weed, as long and brown as a woman's hair, rolled across the reef. His skiff was jostled by swells, and he put a hand on each gunwale to steady himself. He realized he was getting a little too close to the bommies, and he'd had a skiff peeled open before, so he turned his tiller to get away. Across the reef the seaweed swirled, a dance of the morning tides, and the phosphorescence gleamed like liquid emeralds.

There was a manta ray sailing across the moon.

Strands of weed, as long and brown as a woman's hair, rolled across the reef. His skiff was jostled by swells, and he put a hand on each gunwale to steady himself. He realized he was getting a little too close to the bommies, and he'd had a skiff peeled open before, so he turned his tiller to get away. Across the reef the seaweed swirled, a dance of the morning tides, and the phosphorescence gleamed like liquid emeralds.

There was a sharp bark, then a subdued growling.

There was a sharp bark, then a subdued growling.

Silence. The sea, the breezes whining around broken railings.

The aged black fisherman could clearly see its lines, the ridges along its extended wings, the long, sweeping tail trailing after it. It was a big one, he thought, plenty big enough bait for hungry snappers. As he watched, the wide cloud changed, curled in upon itself, became the silver image of a flying fish reaching for a height its ocean brothers could only dream of. Then the wings melted and it became a man's face with an open mouth. He could see the wide eyes, the cheekbones, the point of a chin. But there was fear in that face, and as he continued to observe the cloud, the look of the thing frightened him. The mouth opened wider, wider, in the outcry of one who has seen a terrible vision but does not yet know what he has seen. He felt the breeze knife through his bones. The mouth, opened as wide as possible, suddenly split from the face and became a separate cloud; now it was no longer a face but something grotesque and unrecognizable, turning in on itself like a maddened beast.

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