Sailor and the Sea

Fiction Assignment: Choose two characters from a work of art posted on any museum's website to bring together and interact in your fictional piece. 

The sailor had been alone at sea for a long time, but not long before he started talking to the sea. At first, the crashing, bubbling, and salt-scratching his palate of a life raft were nothing but ordinary noises, but the longer he was there, the closer these sounds crept to syllables. At first, it was all consonants: hard cuts and clicks, water spraying his sunburned face. It became more like English when the silence became oos, and ahs, and ees. 

“Oh, sailor, you are so far from home," it murmured one night while he attempted to rest his eyes. He kept them shut as he responded, his whisper barely more than a breath, “I am not fit for my old home anymore. They would not want me like this.” Quickly, it responded, as if to prove a point, “Fiera would indeed.”

At the name of his lover, spoken out loud and clearly, his eyes flew open, and he propped himself up so quickly that his vision became spotty. He sat in silence, whipping his head this way and that, half expecting a person to be sitting on the other end of his raft speaking to him. 

It spoke again after what seemed like an eternity: “She sings into the night, and then she weeps into the sea. I know her well.” 

“Can you not whisk me there in your current and tide? Can you not satisfy this tragedy?” He barked, angry now so suddenly, surprising himself. 

“The ocean has enveloped and played its part in every tragedy, from the loud, drastic shipwrecks to the heartbreaking messages that people secretly shove into little green bottles and toss into the waves,” It continued, speaking in a rhythm like a heartbeat, “these boards you rest on are mine, your life soon will be; Do not be angry, for it is just who I am.” 

The sailor, in exasperation, slides back down so he can lie flat again. “I am sane enough still to know that I am hallucinating,” he stated matter-of-factly, his head towards the stars again. “Maybe so, but haven't you missed speaking to something outside your mind’s busyness? Isn't it quieter to speak to a sole voice instead of so many of your own?” 

“Maybe so,” he sighs, in the kind of way you speak to a child when you want to make it seem like you believe them. 

The ocean was quiet for a long time, and then just as he was drifting off, it spoke again: “I will admit, it is hard to see you like this.” In response, he mumbled something incoherent, and it continued.

“You know, when I first met you, you were nothing but grabby gunky hands and toes that didn't even sink into the sand, appearing like you weren't even there at all. I knew you then, crashing a wave to barely brush your ankles with foam to make my introduction, you squealed and ran away, but that was enough for me,” It spoke, still rhythmic like before. He reached over his hand and let it droop down into the salt water, just hanging there like a rag doll’s, but it was enough for him too. 

“I knew you again,” It went on, “wobbly and smelling of sour beer, many years later, but you were the same soul. Throwing yourself into the waves, armpits first, in the early light hours and coming up again to laugh and cry out to your fellows.” 

He responded with harsh words, but there is no resentment: “And if the ship had not crashed and given me the privilege to go off and live a little bit longer, I never would have known.” It suddenly felt as if he was talking to himself again, and he knew it was gone.

The ocean came back for him when it was time. When his bones showed, his throat closed, and his skin flaked. His senses had long been overloaded by salt and sun, but his nose cleared suddenly, and he breathed in the sun for his last breath. On his exhale, the sea knew he meant to speak but the breath ran out before he decided what to say. He rolled over and saw deep, blinding blue for the last time through the slats of his closing vision, and his cracked lips ghosted a smile. The waves grew high and swiftly submerged him, like they were somehow holding back before, and sank the rest of his ragtag boat, moldy, along with his remains, melting. It all fell to the sea floor, landing so softly it was like a mother laid him to sleep, and kissed him goodbye.