The ocean was full of feist, the air was full of sparks, and the sky showed a clear reflection of the rough waters on that turbulent day or any aboard Siren. Though I knew nothing about sea life or life at sea, it was left to me, to write what I see, to document all, and in it revel, said the dogs of the sea. But what I wouldn’t give for a clear sky, a lack of brine, and a couple of floorboards who didn’t want to run away with the current. I thought our ship sought out the storms.

I knew not a moment, where the crew wasn’t cussing, or laughing, or drinking throughout their duties. They were Mr. Land, Mr. Ishmael, Mr. Verne, and Mr. Melville. Our stoic Captain Courageous stood never away from the helm, with his lit pipe stuck in his lips, barely said a word, and never said a name, so often I thought him mute. All were bearded, slovenly and stunk, but the captain, as grey as the skies, and as wrinkled as the waves, with his teal twinkle eyes, and how he behaves, (or rather not) I’d say he was mad.

Adeck, mid saltwater zest that fateful day, I heard a tremendous thud. Everyone swore. Holding fast to a line, I kept my eyes peeled for the shipborne clatter. It wasn’t the crew, or the pair of whaleboats, and nothing up top was large enough to make such a noise, that wasn’t a crashing wave, or clap of thunder. But then I saw something out of place, black and leathery, clung to the rail. To gather the crew’s attention I called out, “Look on the left, on the left!”

“What?” they all yelled back.

“Port, I mean!” I paused, looking back at it, and like a snake it crept further on board. “What is that?”

The captain grinned a toothless grin before declaring, “Kraken!”

Not a second passed and each sailor either ran to the gun on the bow, or their own harpoons before firing at the tentacle, and the captain pulled out a sword and cut it off the beast at the side of ship. The whalers shouted triumphantly, while in the breach, a booming roar or grumble echoed to the surface, and put me on edge. It silenced the crew as well. I turned to the clouds looking for lightning, but I saw pale white orbs instead. They were too large to be stars, which could not be seen on violent nights, and when I looked closely, I saw them moving; thousands of white saucers or, discs. After a moment I realised exactly what they were and alerted everyone aboard the Siren, “Look up! Look up!”

Like scavenging gulls, seven remaining tentacles circled us overhead, waiting for the time to strike, yet unfortunately for the gulls, there would be no corpses or wreckage left to scavenge.

The End

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