Ocean Story_by:Jordan Lee Burnes

He was reading Blood and Chocolate. He enjoyed it, but it was just another book. “Stephen, open this door now,” the boy’s mom called to him from behind a wooden frame. She banged on the door as she yelled, her words becoming muffled at this impasse. Stephen looked at the door and imagined it flying off its hinges to present a small, fat, and pudgy, like creature.
Stephen decided to leave. He had done this before, so he would do it again. He closed the book he was reading and threw it on his bed with a force that made it bounce off and hit the opposite wall. Standing up, he went over to his closet and picked out a sweater and black pull over. It was cold outside, but not cold enough for snow, not for another month.
He put on the clothes and headed for his window to climb out. He stopped once his foot was halfway outside gripping the frail wooden ledge with his hands. It splintered and made both his hands bleed; he ignored them. He couldn’t leave like this, not without some insurance. He headed over to a bookshelf beside his bed and grabbed a book that sat crooked among the rest, Ocean Story. He also took some money from inside a book on the top shelf and stuffed it inside his front pocket. As he took it, it stained with his blood.
He ran back to his window and stuck his feet out to feel around for a drainpipe; which he found. He shimmied down the pipe, landed on the soggy ground, and turned to look at the city. The air smelled of paint and sawdust, and the sun sat behind the skyscrapers; the moon sitting in the east, nearly full.
He headed toward his under construction garage on the side of his house and went to one of the cars that were parked inside it. He started to open its door, but stopped once his hand met the handle. His mom was sure to call it in.
He went around the back of the house and took a bike from inside a shed that’s lock was rusted over, so that it came off with a squeak when Stephen gripped it and pulled. His hands started to swell, and bled more as he gripped the handle bars and stood up on the pedals taking off down the road; moving his body left to right careful to keep his balance. He was heading toward the city.
* * *
The streets of Manhattan were overcrowded and the traffic was slow from a red light wreck that joined at four directions; Stephen turned onto the sidewalk to get out of this pile up. Every second he spent on the walkway, the more crowded it became. It became harder to maneuver around them as time went by, so he started to look for a different means of getting to were he was going. As he was thinking; he sped by an alleyway and turned just in time to get inside it.
The alley was dark; it was now night and the sun could no longer be seen, but Stephen found his way with a small light that was attached to his bike. He turned another corner through the alley and was met by a large greasy fist. He flew off his bike during the connection, and slammed onto his back as he watched his bike wobble ahead of him and then fall over: the glass of his small headlight breaking upon impact.
The owner of the large fist picked up the bike and peddled away, not looking back. Stephen got up and brushed off his jeans. They were wet and so was the novel that he had put in his back pocket. His hand ran over the front of his pants and found the bulge of money, safely tucked away in his front right pocket.
He stood for a while, trying to gather his thoughts; suddenly, the wind blew under his chin and made him gaze into the sky. He searched it over and found ten stars and the moon. He turned away disgusted at the lack of greatness that the sky held tonight; or any night, for that matter, in this city.
He stretched out his back and his arms, making them pop and crackle, and jogged the rest of the way to a hotel on the corner of a street that seemed almost deserted (besides the prostitutes and drug addicts). He worked hard to avoid any alleyways during his jog there.
* * *
He found his way into the hotel room up a flight of twisting iron stairs. It was small and smelled strongly of vomit and cigarettes; it had one small bed and an untouched bathroom, with a coffeepot that was situated on a dresser in the middle of the room.
He took a shower and stayed in until the water that hit his back ran icy cold. He got out and dried off; keeping the towel around his waist to lie on the bed. The novel that had been in his pocket now lay on the table beside him. Stephen grabbed it and started reading while his hair soaked the pillow beneath him. This book handed him ideas, which found their way into his dreams, and soon enough… into his life.
* * *
The next morning he headed to a sailboat shop that was located by the ocean. The street by this shop was very busy, and smelled of musk and sex. He didn’t know about a boating license, so he walked in the shop with money and a hope, but walked out with the pain of humiliation.
When night came Stephen went back, the street now deserted besides the occasional late newspaper that would fly by. He went to were a sailboat lie in the water and cut the chain holding it with pair of bolt cutters which still held their Bargain Mart price tag, his hands throbbing as he did so. The chain was cut, and the boat was free as Stephen jumped on. He didn’t know much about navigation, but from what he read in books he could steer it with a slight appreciation even though he didn’t know what he was doing. Soon he was on the water, looking out over the landscape that seemed to never end… the Ocean.
* * *
The boat raced along side the wind as it sailed out into the ocean. Stephen kneeled at the front with his hand over the side grabbing the water with his reaching fingers. The moon was directly overhead, and its rays reflected off the water to bring light to the scene that Stephen learned to capture.
He went and tied the sail up to stop the boat. It slowed and set a steadier course through the water, making him see how placid it had really been.
An anchor sat on the starboard side of the boat, and had eight arms protruding out of its side, fashioned to look like an octopus. Stephen went over and threw it into the water, creating a ripple that went on never-ending until it met some sandy beach that he would never visit, or even hear of.
The anchor raced down into the water and caught onto a group of small rocks that made the boat jerk just a tad and then stop; now the sound of water gliding past the boat ceased. The Ocean’s stillness now allowed solitude to be at a point of definition, for Stephens ears caught no sound.
Stephen took a blanket from inside the boat and brought it to the edge. He attempted to lay it, but the wind flew by and stole it from him. The blanket flew over the water but never touched it. It was simple, but magnificent.
Stephen lay down on the boat and a shiver went through his spine, but even without the blanket it was relaxing. His eyes went to the sky and caught the stars that lay motionless in space, though the lack of motion added to their beauty. They were more plentiful here on the ocean than in the city, millions of them, and the ten that he originally saw were now camouflaged among all the others. Stephen started to think about all the myths that have been made from these stars: dead relatives, Gods, planets, and even the sign of love.
His eyes started to get heavy and he was soon reduced to peering through a small crease through his eyelids. They soon closed shut as he fell asleep to the sound of a whale that came to sing him a beautiful lullaby. His realization of this scene magnified in his dreams, and he knew that he loved the Ocean; and yet he would leave it just to be taken back once more.
* * *
“Come and listen to my song, the waves will bring you from afar, rewards is what awaits you here, as beautiful maidens shall appear.” A song that came from nowhere, yet somewhere.
Stephen woke to the song, and it made him want to stay awake even though his dreams of the stars were lucid and real. He stood and listened as goosebumps took refuge on his flesh. The song was beautiful; he wanted to capture it, to make it forever his; constant. He ran his nails through his hair, and took the first idea that came to mind as a promise.
He dashed over to the sails and untied them, and then running too the anchor he yanked it up as the sails caught wind and put the boat in motion. The water was no longer still as Stephen ran to the wheel and started to direct the boat toward the notes. The moon caught the waves and showed Stephen their growing ferocity, but his decision was impudent.
He kept following the sound that soon became his first priority. The song held a hidden message that seemed as if only he could decipher it; it told him that the satisfaction it brought him would never end, and not only that, but it would take him to a place; some place better than here, better than anywhere.
The sea was getting dangerous, and clouds were starting to form overhead blocking out the stars and the moon. Thunder crackled above, and it drove him to madness as he gritted his teeth together to taste the salty air.
His hair was flowing behind him at a furious pace, but then it started to fall and sat still on his shoulders as the wind stopped, but the storm grew.
The water became placid once again, and in the distance, through a light fog, Stephen saw a feint silhouette of irregular shape. The sound was there; he sailed closer, careful not to collide, and the silhouette slowly materialized through the mist to present itself. A woman sat naked on a jagged rock, beholding long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. Waves crashed against the rock and sprayed her back making it gleam in the moonlight. This left him with an even stronger feeling of lust.
Stephen drew closer, and reached out for her; static generating between there fingertips. The woman’s song urged him forward, but when lighting struck his boat, it was lost. He bowled over into the water and readjusted himself to look up at the woman. The saltwater burned his eyes, but he kept them open to gaze at what he had fought this Ocean for.
She stood up on the rock and took a deep breath flattening her stomach and raising her chest. She bent down onto the balls of her feet, tightening her calves and thighs, which made Stephen feel warm despite the cold water. She sprung off the rock and dove into the water with her hands in an arrow shape in front of her. The song that she sang now came out in a horrid and scratchy voice, and the beauty that she once held started to fade, as her skin turned to scales, her long hair became locks of seaweed, and her beautiful legs intertwined to form a single fin. Now the song took a different tune.
“Death is what awaits you know, as my stomach starts to growl, your pain shall entice my fears, and your meat will bring long life to my years.” The monster smiled, as it sang, showing her sharp and jagged teeth that were layered over with brown and green algae, now he noticed that the monster he saw in his bedroom that day had become all too real; but now his mind was his again.
He started to swim upward.
The monster came for him at an alarming speed; her tailfin colliding with his stomach. Blood drifted out of his mouth and mixed with water around him, and if tears had a color they would have been present also. The monster now swam around taunting him.
He continued to swim.
She came at him again, crazed with the scent of blood in the water; and hit him in the ribs, creating unbelievable pain that made him yell. As he tried, water filled his lungs and made him feel as if he was a part of this Ocean, but he continued to swim, this time breaking the surface and gasping for air. The water was calm, and the clouds in the sky had disappeared, and it was silent, for a moment.
A hand grabbed his foot and pulled him back under. This time he went down deep. His ears started to pop as pressure started in on his chest making it harder to hold his breath.
Stephen looked out into the distance for some last bit of beauty before his demise, he found it. A woman, not a monster, but a beautiful woman with brown hair and Ocean color eyes came rushing through the water toward them. She wore bluish-white scales from waist down, but her torso was fully human. She held a foot of coral in her right hand that was carved to a knives point, and went rushing at the monster below him.
The monster was unaware and the woman cut her stomach; clay-like blood coming from the wound. The monster went at her and they engaged. While fighting for the knife, the monster bit the woman’s shoulder and red blood drifted from the puncture. The woman disregarded this injury and kept fighting.
Through a collection of maneuvers and mental ability she took the knife; swimming behind the monster she stabbed it in the back of her neck. The monster’s eyes opened in surprise, the blueness they had held turning to grey; she became still. Her body drifted to the bottom of the Ocean with a foot of coral sticking out of her neck, and a shark that came from nowhere followed her down, just to swim away out of repulsion as she hit the Ocean floor and was sucked under by an excursion of tentacles that came from the ground.
The woman swam up to Stephen and they stared at each other, he was out of breath and almost dead, but he preferred to die this way; it was beautiful and uncommon. The woman intertwined her fingers into Stephen’s hair and brought her lips to his. Her tongue slid through Stephen’s lips and he accepted it; he became warm, then his eyes shut, and the brightest darkness he had ever experienced took him.
* * *
Stephen’s eyes opened to a blue sky filled with clouds and a warm sun. He could feel sand on his back and his nose felt very cold. He stood up to find himself on a beach. He walked to were the surf met the sand. He bent down and picked up a book that was drifting halfway between earth and Ocean; he turned it over to see its title, Ocean Story.
He walked to a hospital holding that book tight. He was checked out seeming that there was nothing wrong with him.
He went back to his house that day and walked in on his parents with a divorce sheet on the table in front of were they sat, they both signed it, but it was better that way. He never told anyone what happened. No one knew of the stolen boat or of the creatures he met that night.
Stephen fought for his rights in court to live on his own, and he won them. He was only sixteen, but he got a job at a sport store and found an apartment in a small neighborhood by the Ocean. He kept that book by him always, but never opened it again, until one night.
A storm had drifted in and the waves seemed to call for him. The book lay on a chair in the kitchen, slightly hanging off the side. Stephen readjusted it and a strand of brown hair fell onto the floor. He picked it up and put it to his nose. It smelled of the Ocean.
That day Stephen bought a boat. Every day and night he would go out into the Ocean and search. No one asked him what he was looking for, although some did wonder, but he never stopped. Every day he would wake up and sail; every night he would do the same.
Then one night when the moon was full and the stars were in abundance in the sky, Stephen went out. That night Stephen sailed out into the Ocean and never came back. No one knows what happened to him, but ever so often if you are out on a night like that, you can hear the songs of the ocean, and if you listen hard enough there is also the sound of two bodies jumping in and out of the water in the distance.