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Perry Bourgault

Ranjan Adiga

Introduction to Creative Writing

29 September 2032

Where the land meets the sea, a place of wonder for every young child in the village.

John especially dreamed of the ocean. He dreamed of hot sand melting the skin off his toes, and

the freezing violent ocean that sent waves up the beach like hands reaching to pull you in. Waves

as tall as cars waiting just offshore to drown any unsuspecting swimmer who dared go too far. As

a child John had ventured to the sea almost everyday with his father. The smell of fish and salt on

the breeze still lingered fresh on his mind. For John however the real excitement came not from

the sand nor the waves, but what lived beneath them. In the deep blue a thousand creatures thrive

waiting to be caught and reeled in. His dream more than anything else was to catch the fish told

in legend for generations.

The story had been told and retold many times throughout the island, a tale of a sea

monster. A fish so large it had no earthly business being here. Of course nobody alive has ever

actually seen the beast (Although some claimed they caught a glimpse as a child). The lack of

evidence made the tale no less exciting to the children, and they spent their free time at the

water's edge waiting for the beast to be caught on their hooks. John stood on the edge of the

shoreline with his small feet sinking deeper into the sand with every wave that swept past his

ankles. He takes his hand out of the pocket of his dirty pants pocket where it had been fiddling

with a small stone, and wipes his eyes. His long blonde hair was saturated with salt from the sea
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and stung his eyes as it brushed over them. In the distance thunder rumbled from massive

looming clouds. Storms out over the Atlantic were no joke, and they came in fast.

He heard his father shout from the top of the beach down to him, low and powerful

calling him away from the sea. “Just a minute papa” he tried to call back but his voice was too

small and weak to be heard over the power of the mighty atlantic. His father called again more

sternly this time. This time John made little effort to be heard and mumbled to himself “why do I

have to listen to you anyways” surprising himself as he did so. John was not one to disrespect his

father, after all it was his father who had raised him with the love of the sea.

Despite his fathers wishes John stepped closer into the surf, the waves breaking over his

thighs now, soaking his pants. He turned to face his father knowing now he will certainly not be

pleased. Somehow though, he couldn't escape a feeling of being drawn towards the sea. This

moment was all it took for the ocean to seize its opportunity. A rogue wave swept his feet out

from under him, laying him face first in the sand. Hardly a second of time was granted for John

to tilt his head and watch another wave force itself down on him. The next image he saw was

water getting deeper and deeper as he struggled upwards.

At this point the rain had begun to fall in big heavy drops turning even the slightest

moments of air unbreathable. With each attempt at surfacing John felt weaker and weaker. Spots

filled his eyes before everything faded to darkness. Pushed out beyond the last of the sandbars

the small limp body of a child drifts out towards the deep blue slowly bobbing on the surface.

Hours passed before the heavy rain drops turned soft and then stopped.

A sliver of light shot over his face like a scar forcing an unconscious eye to open. By

some miracle of god John had managed to end up floating on his back and was breathing. As he

slowly regained consciousness his body remained numb and still from the icy black water. For a
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while John stayed surprisingly calm as he drifted out farther into the depths of the sea. Almost

like meditation, he fell deeper into a state of sleepy numbness, like a baby being rocked to sleep.

John woke yet again, but this time the state of meditation that he had been experiencing had gone

and had been replaced with utter terror. He began to thrash his arms in a panic and doing so only

presented his lungs with more cold and vile seawater. With every attempt at climbing himself out

of the water the jagged hands of the sea floor reached up, tightening their grip around his ankles

pulling him downwards into the black abyss.

This continued for what felt like hours in John's mind. Weaker and weaker with every

grasp at the surface, he once again became paralyzed by the strength of the sea and his mind

went black once again. A sharp pain in his forehead snapped him out of it and using the last

strength he had he felt out the pain and felt a hard plank of wood on his palm as he moved his

hand upwards. Pulling himself onto the plank John let out a wince of pain before dropping

himself onto it, at last he had the upper hand in his fight with the mighty Atlantic.

Hours passed as John desperately clung onto the piece of driftwood. Another problem

had become noticeable as John began to come to his senses. He confirmed his worst fear by

reaching down towards his thigh, there was indeed blood in the water. The flow was slow enough

that John figured he still had several more hours until the blood loss would really start to impact

him but the fact that the bleeding hadn’t stopped on its own was concerning. John figured that

debris in the storm must have struck his leg to cause the wound. He now turned his focus on

tending to his leg. John removed his shirt in an attempt to fashion a bandage to at least slow the

bleeding.

For a short while the bandage did seem to slow the bleeding quite well but at this point

the sun was beginning to set. Another wave of emotions began to overwhelm him. This time fear
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was paired with an intense paranoia that he was no longer alone. As the sun set over the horizon

that feeling only grew stronger.

Every minute after the sun had set John started to panic more and more. John began to

swim not only because it helped with the paranoia but because at this point hypothermia was

almost certainly setting in. Awkwardly gripping the plank of wood beneath his abdomen John

paddled his way towards the rising moon.

The moon grew ever brighter as it crested over the edge of the sea, shining off the waves

making them sparkle and glisten like shards of glass spilled out across an endless plane. This

scene would have comforted him normally, but not now, maybe not ever again. For hours there

was nothing, until there was something. At first he was convinced that his mind was playing

tricks on him, but for now it did not matter. Even if he wasn't really seeing the silhouette of an

island in the distance, it didn't matter because hope was keeping him alive.

The silhouette became larger and now John knew without a doubt that it was indeed an

island that he was heading towards. Tears now streamed down his face as he crawled ever closer

through the chop to dry land. He found himself outstretching his hands, thrusting out towards the

island in the distance.

Sandpaper. That's what John felt brush against his leg. One long brush across his shin. It

took only moments for him to realize what that likely meant. Once again John's emotions

drastically changed. John began to rapidly flap his arms in a flurry. Splashing and flailing, John

scrambled as fast as he could, dragging the plank of wood behind him at this point. Could he

have made it up? Quite possibly but there was no time to think about that in the likely chance

that the shark was in fact very real.

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At this point he convinced himself that every movement he felt was a shark coming up

from the depths to eat him. His flailing did not help as he was convinced his own splashes were

from the shark.

John was all of a sudden swept away again and was soon struggling once more with the

intense waves. But by the mercy of god in his final moments before drowning completely his

mouth was suddenly not filled with water, but with sand. He was finally on solid ground.

Digging his hands deep into the sand he began to crawl. Waves smashed over the top of

his head pinning him down but he kept going. Filled with an overwhelming need to survive he

managed to reach the end of the waves and promptly collapsed on the dry sand. His breathing

was shallow and weak and he couldn’t move a muscle. With one last tilt of his head John looked

out at the sea he had conquered, and saw it, not just any sea beast but a shark.

John was found the next morning unconscious, but alive. As luck would have it the island

he washed up on was not far from a popular offshore fishing spot and was frequently visited by

fishermen who wanted a spot to have lunch and a beer on a nice beach. John told the story to the

crew who found him and they refused to believe it. John had been unconscious longer than he

originally thought. According to the fishermen he must have been drifting for a matter of days

before he was found. The crew presented him with sour tasting water and bread that was far too

stale for any reasonable person to be eating, but to him it was the most amazing meal that he had

ever eaten.

The bread was swiftly knocked out of his hands as the boat rocked violently. John

stumbled onto the deck to figure out what was happening and was met with shouting and panic.

Off the port side of the ship a massive fin rose out of the water before the boat was once again

struck. The crew reached for harpoons as they scrambled back to their feet. Bolts struck the side
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of the beast but did nothing but anger it. Once again it came for the boat as John stood up. They

braced for another impact, but it never came. John stood confident on the bow of the ship as the

beast retreated back to the deep. Baffled, the crew praised the young boy for their salvation. John

knew though that this was most likely a coincidence. But some small part of him knew that

maybe the beast respected him for surviving and conquering the mighty Atlantic.

John knew though now, that it was real. The stories he had heard growing up were all

true. For years afterwards John would tell the story of his fierce battle with the sea and his

narrow escape with the beast.