The Beached Whale

The Black Salty Hell

The bottom of the ocean was exactly the hell Lord Umber promised. The dark was endless. Even if I opened my eyes the salt stung them shut.

I was stuck here. Helpless. I could only battle the chains.

I fought as hard as I could. Flexed and pushed my arms trying to break a link in the chains. I did this until I couldn't move my arms anymore. Then, I kicked and flailed. I strained my legs with all my might. But the chains held.

I waited until I regained my strength, and fruitlessly fought again. My arms. My legs. I fought with everything I had.

The chains held.

This became my entire existence. Fight. Fail. Fight! Fail! Time was like blood in the water, every wave made it fainter and fainter. In that endless dark, I lost all sense of months and years.

The pressure and salt mangled and dissolved my body, only for me to regenerate, over and over. The silver chains have scorched my skin for so long I no longer felt the burn.

Still, I fought. This would not be my grave.

I could feel myself getting stronger. I was fighting the chains for longer and longer.

Still, the chains held.

I began to think the dark might consume me. And sometimes found myself forgetting why I had been fighting for so long. That's when I'd remember my wife. I'd picture when I first met her. The tavern where she served putrid ale. Many men sought her affection. I had to separate myself from the rabble. I paid a friend of hers to discover her favorite food: trout. I fished in the nearby river. I was a decent cook, and prepared trout with butter and dill. I brought her a plate right after she finished working. She told me nobody had ever cooked for her.

That was the night she fell for me. It really was that simple. I clung to that memory. I had to remember what I was fighting for. What was taken from me.

The salt had lost its sting. The pressure was no longer crushing me. Had it been decades? Centuries? I raged with my arms until they collapsed. I battled with my thighs until they quivered and cramped.

The chains held.

I remembered my son. He had just learned about cursing and cartwheels. The little rascal. He would do them in the most embarrassing places. He'd tumble right in front of the butcher as we were purchasing salt pork. "Stop it," I'd snap at him. "It's not proper." He'd mutter some curse word under his breath. I would pull him aside and sternly reminded the importance of manners. Then my wife would pull me aside and scold me for being too harsh with him.

I would drink this ocean just to hear her scold me one more time. I'd sail the circumference of the world then back again, just to hear my son say, "bastard," one more time.

My arms no longer gave out. My legs could kick eternal. My body waged war constantly against the blasted holy silver, and every muscle of mine had turned to steel.

I remembered the vampire lord calling me his little whale. His fanged smile as he told me I'd suffer an eternity begging for death. He was wrong. The agony I felt all over, and had felt for hundreds of years, awoke my vow.

I would not rest until I killed every vampire.

POP!

The chains broke.

The pressure around me loosened. I felt the chains slither down my slimy skin.

At long last!

I shook away the chains. I had full control of my body! I could swing my arms wildly! I kicked and moved as I pleased! I relished in the freedom of movement. Even there at the bottom of the ocean, I broke out in joyous dance. Or, as best as you can dance a thousand meters below sea level.