ʟᴜᴘɪɴ│ᴛᴋ [complete]

.31. ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴀɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʟ ᴅʀᴏᴡɴs

There was something oddly reassuring in the knowledge that crying underwater would always go unnoticed. Especially sea water. Any salty remnants on one's cheeks could be attributed to the ocean's salinity. Not to mention the comforting silence of the marine realm. No ugly sobbing, loud sniffing, and other dead giveaways. Tears did tend to blur one's eyesight, but that was a minor inconvenience proportionate to the undeniable benefit of undisclosed sorrow.

No one needs to know.

No one must know.

These were just a few of the thoughts going through the boy's mind as he watched the waves crash onto the jagged dolerite cliffs below. Today was not a good day to go swimming. The grey clouds above and the howling wind gave the imminent storm away. But there was no way he could hold his grief in for more than twenty-four hours. He needed his daily subaqua therapy. It was a matter of life or death for he believed he would surely drown in madness from the heartache which slowly ate away at his sanity.

Or what was left of it anyway.

"Angelo! Non farle!" yelled a retired fisherman at the boy who was already knee-deep in water.

"Va bene!" cried the boy back, turning around and smiling from ear to ear to show everything was indeed fine and there was no reason to worry.

"Torna qui!" insisted the old fellow but the young man simply ignored him and dived in.

♠

Angelo was not his name, but that's what they called him around here, ever since the day he "fell from the sky" on a winged contraption. It took the villagers over a week to get the fever down. As for his wounds, they had healed fairly quickly, much to the doctor's relief. Never before had he had to perform surgery to remove a bullet, and more than once had his hand trembled during the operation as he had realized the stranger's life depended on his ability to succeed. The "miracle boy" was another nickname they had naturally bestowed upon the foreigner who soon had won all their hearts thanks, no doubt, to his obliging manners and his contagious smile.

They didn't know much about him, and he made sure to keep it that way. Yet not wanting to come off as ungrateful for all they had done for him to this day, he tried to repay their kindness by offering his assistance to help repair a broken chair, or paint a wall, or replace a leaking roof tile... For some reason, the number of things that needed fixing in the small town of Riomaggiore had greatly multiplied in the last few months. What a blessing Angelo was indeed.

The boy smiled at the thought as he slowed his heartbeat to prolong his diving. The tears would follow soon enough.

Compared to the surface, the bottom of the sea was surprisingly calm. He could clearly spot the rugged shells of wild oysters clasping submerged rocks. He kept sinking deeper toward the sea floor, where he caught a sudden movement. An octopus! Francesca would no doubt be happy to add a scrumptious polpo grigliato to the Chef's special of the day.

And thus the hunt began.

The creature's stealthiness, however, eventually defeated the boy's lungs and he reluctantly swam toward the surface. He had not expected the waves to come crashing upon him so forcefully and he soon found himself gasping for air but swallowing water instead. As he was tossed about by treacherous currents, his leg scraped the oyster-covered rocks, causing the waters to turn dark from the blood suddenly rushing out of the nasty gash.

Anyone in a similar situation would have panicked. But Angelo was not anyone. He was a boy with a broken heart, and all he could think of as he sank quietly toward the seabed was that perhaps, it was better this way—

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