Crush

🦖

It's the simple pleasures that really keep me coming back to the city. The feeling on the bottom of my foot as I gently increase pressure, the vibrations as the metal starts to crumple and the satisfying pop as the glass shatters.

I could crush them flat in a single forceful stomp, but I really like to savor the experience. There's no sense in rushing. I've nowhere I need to be. I can take in all the city has to offer at my own pace: the metallic tang of rail cars, the fiery woosh of big propane tanks, all of it.

Busses are my favorite.

I can get a nice even pressure along the whole length of my foot, and when they crumple, it tickles just a little. Sometimes I find two right beside each other; that's good day.

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They don't make them like they used to.

Not worse, necessarily, just... different. Different and, well let's be honest, worse.

I preferred the wooden ones: how their timbers groaned and crackled as I slowly wrapped my arms around them and gently squeezed. There was a warmth to that sound. It was natural, wholesome.

These new ones, all cold metal and itchy fiberglass... I've nothing good to say about them. If they weren't so damn noisy I might not even bother. The constant thrum of their engines and churn of the propellers fill my ocean with an intolerable cacophony. How am I meant to hear the rhythm of the waves or listen to the whales sing while these damn ships are screaming all day and all night.

I haven't gotten a good year's sleep in I don't know how long.

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I'm not generally a fan of tanks. They don't crush all that well and their shelling can be itchy. But every now and then, they'll park in an open space where I can get a good wind up and, whoo boy do I like them then. I once shot a tank straight through two skyscrapers with a single swing of my tail.

I was just winding up to smack one for what I expected to be a personal long distance record when I caught sight of her out in the bay.

I was glad her beautiful bulbous eyes were deep underwater or she would have seen me tripping over my own feet. An office building broke my fall, and I broke its... well everything.

She hasn't been by in ages. Not that she has any reason to visit.

It's not like we know each other.

She probably doesn't even know I exist.

Even so, every time I see her long smooth tentacles gracefully encircle a cruise ship and tear it in two, I just go to pieces. She's just so refined, so elegant. Me, I'm just an irradiated bumpkin with half a helicopter stuck in his teeth.

I can't help it though. I'd give up all the buses and cement trucks in the world just to feel her cool damp tentacle caress my face, to have her suckers and barbs gently tug at my scales.

I can't even work up the courage to introduce myself, though.

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Back in this bay again.

I don't know why.

It's not a very nice bay; The reefs are all gone and with them all the scents and sounds of life.

I'm lying to myself. I know exactly why I'm here, and it's not to dismantle a navy, despite what several of my arms are engaged in.

He's here.

I've the whole of the ocean to travel and yet I find myself wandering back to these waters time and again. I'm older than this island and yet I act like it's my first spawning when he's around.

Embarrassing.

Ridiculous.

But, the heart wants what it wants, and the strength of his footfalls echo in the deep. They cut through the noise: steady, confident, comforting. I could just listen to him walking all day, letting the rumble of his stomps ripple through my body. Oh and when he roars, it's better than a thunderstorm over the open ocean.

Oh, good grief, listen to me, I'm fawning over someone I've nothing to offer. I'm a slimy tangled mess. What would I even do if we met? Invite him back to my place? It's cold and dark, with no air and enough pressure to pop a submarine like a soap bubble? Not exactly the tropical paradise he's probably used to.

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I just want to hold her. Which is very silly, I know. I can't hold much of anything. My arms haven't been of any use since the bombs fell. I got big but they stayed small, but they still want to give hugs.

Ah well. I should appreciate what I have. And what I have right now is a front row seat to a beautiful performance. She's a master of her craft, juggling a half dozen boats at a time, tearing them apart down to the rivets. I wish I could applaud.

It seems however that not everyone understands her art.

I spot planes incoming. Big, black, high-flying planes. The kind that carry the sort of bombs that made me. They don't bother me, but to think of the possibility of their nuclear fires wounding one of her beautiful limbs fills me with fury.

I rise from the ruins on which I've been reclining and fill my lungs, letting that fury fuel a fire within me and shout out a warning.

My bellow shatters any of the glass for miles around which I hadn't already broken, and a white hot beam of my concentrated rage arcs across the sky. It splits the clouds and evaporates the offending airplanes.

For a moment I let myself imagine her reaching out to thank me for my act of heroism.

As if she even needed my help.

As if she even noticed the planes.

She probably thinks I'm having a good old romp up here like the uncouth creature that I am. She wouldn't be wrong.

Ah well, a boy can dream.

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I can feel his roar reverberate through the whole of me. I think the entire ocean heard it. As much as the sound, I could feel the heat of it, not just on my arms above the surface, but enough to warm my face all the way down here.

It was deep, urgent, desperate. Like a volcano crying out for its lover. I can't help but shudder in response and my heart skips a beat or two as I just let his passion wash over me.

I'm tempted to surface, to see who he has such unrestrained feelings for, but I hesitate. It's not my business, I tell myself.

But that's not truly why I stay below, in the safety of the water, in the safety of my ignorance.

If I don't see, then I don't know, and I can continue to dream.

As I slip back down into the deep, I let myself imagine that roar could have been for me. I allow myself that simple, foolish, pleasure.