Sea Lochness Monster

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic


What makes something a monster?

Submitted: June 26, 2018

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Submitted: June 26, 2018

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Monsters don’t hide behind scales. They don’t cower underneath our beds or roam the deep blue in search of human victims to feast upon.

I cannot tell you if Bigfoot is cruel, or if Dracula enjoys tearing apart his prey, or if these monsters even exist at all.

 But every evening I gaze at the sleepy Sun, puking its last rays of happiness on the sky, before the Moon presents its nightly galactic spectacular to no one, because the people were all too tired to see it. And the ocean wind slaps my tendrilled hair, playing an incomprehensible game of Patty Cake to pass the time. And I wait, rocking myself, to lull away the sleep settling in my joints, my frozen fingertips, watching the darkened horizon. Waiting for my monster.

 Though perhaps the word “monster” isn’t appropriate. His hulking form rises silently from the water, wading towards the shore. Thirty feet of pure muscle, gray-black scales and skin hard as metal. Barbed dorsal fin, ten rows of impossibly yellow teeth. All his monstrosities, to protect one ancient, massive heart.

 He bows when I approach the water, and I tickle his outstretched chin. And he purrs as I ascend his back, clinging onto his scales. His tail sways, propelling us into the water, further and further out until Maui becomes a speck in the vast horizon of the ocean.

I yowl, laughing into the violent ocean winds, my screams merely a whisper compared to Mother Earth’s hearty snores--her violent ocean winds. My monster roars, quivering the forces of the Earth, dipping his head below the water, sending me under. Only the sounds of my pounding heart meet me down here, pulsing in rhythm with his, and the salt stings my eyes, and the goosebumps dot my bare arms, but I don’t care.

 Because it’s only down here, on the back of the Sea Loch Ness Monster, do I finally feel free.

Maybe he is a monster, because he looks like a monster; growls like a monster; is feared, like a monster, because the world needs someone to blame for shipwrecks and the Earth’s abnormalities.

But the world forgot that the Sea Loch Ness Monster’s heart wasn’t meant to wreak terror.

It was meant to be loved.

In the near silent sound of the roaring winds, our heartbeats thump in synchrony.  His fins, meant to shield ships from Nature’s cruelties, steer us through the waves. I trace the harpoon scars jutting like mountains on the expanse of his back. Tracing the millennium of hate, healed and torn apart again, healed and torn apart.

A lone guardian, protecting the seas, then hated because of it.

But it’s not the people’s fault, really. They just don’t know the difference between a monster and not, because the world forgot to tell them. It’s not their fault the Earth built their protector like a monster.

 How do you tell the difference between an angel and a demon if they all look the same?

 Back on the small beaches of Maui, together, we watch the sunrise, my limbs sprawled on his torso. He dips his head, growling. It’s incomprehensible, but I think I understand.

 ‘I think I know who the monsters are.’

 I stroke his charcoaled scales, absently, listening to his ancient words plop listlessly into the water.

 “I think I know too.” I think I’ve always known.

I climb off his upturned snout, smooching him on his flared nostrils, then turn away from the sea. He yowls, and I hear the splash marking his descent.  I clutch my wrists, to stop the bleeding of my scrapes from his scales, and I smile.

Then I wander down the sandy streets, past all the sleepy houses, until I’m immersed once again, back into the world of monsters.

 Yes, them, the people, the monsters, who don’t have the courtesy to grow an ugly face.

But it’s not our fault, I suppose, that Earth’s angels aren’t always what they seem.

 


© Copyright 2018 halle schaffer. All rights reserved.

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