; lyht leaves the eyes—expelled by a relentless laesr of poignant realisation that reality is but absurdism x impossibility.

Thursday, 22 December 2011

the mighty shore

"that's strange. huh."

the whale had been a whale for as long as she had been a whale. a fine whale she had been, and continues to be. however, at the current time the sense that tells her to do things she normally does, doesn't. for instead, it tells her to swim to shore. to move her massive body out to shallow waters.

"move yourself toward the beach," it says. the whale, of course, finds this incredibly strange. how preposterous! how audacious!

the whale ponders this inscrutable, undeniable urge to listen to the sense. the whale wants to move out to shore. to what purpose, godly or ungodly, does this duty serve? why now? why there? and what shall happen after she gets there?

by the time the whale has decided that there is absolutely no sense listening to the sense, her body is already partways up the beach, sand coating and grazing the skin of her underside. her panic dissolves into sobs, shimmying her further from the edge of the water.

there it is again. the urge to sing one final song. not for help, but for goodbye.

a story about beached whales.

No comments:

Post a Comment