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Zeagoth June 1, 2012 User blog:Zeagoth

I cross into the fog. Cold air fills my lungs, the smell of the sea. Whales in the distance

mourning with their longing calls. I can only imagine their sorrow, their loss. To be a part of this

unforgiving world, to be a victim of nature’s fury. A tremble crawls along my body. Fear has no

place when anticipation is in force. But for what do I wait? The sea does not beckon for her own

amusement. The sea, she has her goal in sight. She wants me near. The crashing waves with

their dull splashes against the black sand, I am close. Oh, ocean, why have you brought me

here? The whales continue their calls, echoing throughout this blanket of icy fog. I shudder. The

dark mass slowly reveals herself. I am here. I stand before her. The waves crash against the

shore, threatening to consume me if I dare stray too close to her. The ocean then becomes still.

The whales whisper their sorrowful cries. The ocean, she has brought me for an event. I know it

in my heart, she wants me to witness something. Before long, a thunderous echo. My

heartbeat becomes dull. She gives birth. As I watch the dark ocean rumble and quake before

me, I see him break the surface of her skin. Lumbering as if confused by a world he never

expected, but moving with a haste that spoke of intention, he crosses the black sand of the

night, each footstep announced with a soft thud. I can only stare at this beast, a being that

aches to find resolution. The black crusted anchor he drags creates grooves in the sand that will

remain until the voracious ocean consumes them. He stands in place, a black figure against the

dark landscape. Labored breathing. This creature is alive yet dying. The helmet tilts upward. A

bellowing and mournful moan echoes in the dark. He grips the charcoal anchor and, with the

strength of a titan, impales the sand with the anchors unforgiving hooked edge. The labored

breathing doesn’t cease. Anger and hatred consume his breaths. And, like blood spilling onto

sand, the red glow illuminates the inky soil. He lives. Yet he does not. He turns to me, the blood

red eyes that shine with contempt. And I see the suffering and pain that tears at his

heart. "Forgotten..." he whispers in a deep voice that is not of his original birth, but of the birth

by sea. This child of the depths, this herald of the abyss, he now will walk the earth. "Dear

Nautilus", I whisper, "you will have vengeance..."

Joshua Gomez

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