The Oceanum

The Ocean Meets The Shore

       I ran towards the crowd, my ruined boots smacking loudly on the ground, freshly turned to puddles of mud from the recent rain. The people flocked towards the man in the middle, scrambling to give him their treasures. They threw gold and jewels on the man that only passed by every ten years;

       The Oceanum.

        He was the one who controlled the ocean tides, the ebb and flow of the life of our great sea country. He was treated as a god, gifted with precious metals and gems in a desperate attempt to attract his attention and approval. The people, as proud as they were, begged to simply breathe the same air as the man.

       The Oceanum was known for both his loving kindness and the awful horrors he could bring upon the coast. Of course, that simply made the people clamor for his attention even more fervently. It seemed like people can never evolve past having to worship something.

       I struggled, trying to wedge my way through the crowd just to catch a glimpse of this legendary man, the man who could guide our fair country to greatness, or rip it down to rubble on a whim. The people struggled back, shoving their way through each other in the desperation and overwhelming need to see their idol.

       I knew I was getting close, for the shouts were louder and the people rowdier. They pushed and shoved, all trying to yell above each other, ignoring me and my near childish attempts to get closer to him. I spotted wild black hair flash close by; I had made it. When I finally got into the inner most circle of people someone shoved me forward, making me, and my beggar's offering of bread, fall to the mud beneath The Oceanum's feet.

       The begging voices turned from desperate to disgusted as they saw the peasant at the feet of their god. The man stopped and turned to face me as if sensing the mud-covered scum who laid at his feet. I looked up to see stormy grey eyes meeting mine, flashing with power and unknown light. I couldn't hide the fearful gasp that flew from my mouth, the very feeling flooding into me and encompassing my entire being, a fear I had not felt since my father died and I ended up on the streets. I grabbed my offering, the simple loaf of bread just slightly bigger than my hand, and held it up to him with shaking fingers, turning my gaze down to the mud I was still sitting in. I was raised to revere the deity in front of me, and I was going to give him my offering, as small as it was, as a sign of respect. In the back of my mind, I knew it was not worthy of his attention, but I also wished in the darkest corner of my heart that he would accept it, and perhaps show mercy to my homelessness. I felt him take it from my upturned hands, the skin on his fingers rougher than mine from years of living in the ocean.

       The crowd had gone completely silent, watching in a tight circle that prevented any escape. "Boy" a deep voice rasped, "Who are you, to give me a dirty piece of bread as an offering, when others gift me gold and jewels?" My eyes snapped up, surprised at his words. His grey eyes were alight with something (could it have been amusement?), but my mind was reeling over his words. I took a moment to collect myself, reeling in my temper that hardly ever showed through, and held his gaze. I would not grovel in front of a man who was so callous and undeserving.

       I stood to my full height and realized that I was a few inches taller than him, a fact that I stored away for later. "My name is Garret, and you, Sir, are rude. Gold from the rich means nothing to the rich, just some trinket to hopefully win you over so that they may use you in the future. A beggar's bread is much more valuable, for it is their lives you hold in their hands, not some meaningless shiny thing that could be created a thousand times over without a second thought. I would have assumed that someone like you would be able to understand a simple fact such as that, but I see that I put too much faith in a creature I never met." I was about to turn away in disgust when someone  grabbed my shirt roughly, ripping it down the back. Before I could react, they dug their fingers into the snarls in my hair and pulled, forcing me to the ground and pressing my face into the mud.

     "I apologize for this boy, Oceanum, he is an idiot and a beggar, I will kill him now if it pleases you." A man said, and I felt the cold press of metal to the back of my neck, making me shiver involuntarily. I tried to push my head back up, using my arms to help, but the man just pushed down harder and the mud started to get in my nose. Then something I never thought I would hear; The Oceanum laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle that made me relax immediately, filling my head with visions of warm crashing waves and bright sunlight. "Release the boy and let him stand." He said, still chuckling softly.

       I jumped to my feet as the man released me and whipped around, seeing Madren melt back into the crowd. He forgot that I knew where he lived, I would burn his hut down for that. Turning back to The Oceanum, I saw something in his eyes that made my fear (as forgotten as it was, fear was still ever present in the back of my mind) melt away: kindness.

       He smiled and leaned close, his breath tickling my face, and stared for a moment, his face a picture of untainted joy. He then leaned back and spoke loudly, "The Ocean takes all. You have seemed to have forgotten that simple fact. All that is the Ocean's, always returns to the ocean. That is also why," He paused, looking at me closely "this boy, Garret, will come with me when I return to the sea, where he, and I, belong."

       Shocked murmurs rang through the crowd, which quickly turned to yelling. The Oceanum had never taken a person to sea before, but apparently, I would be the first...

       A/N: So this will be the first edit in a string of several. Now that I look at it, The Oceanum reminds me of Howl; he's eccentric, optimistic, knowledgeable and prone to childish temper tantrums. The only difference is The Oceanum is not vain, he simply has no room for worrying about how he looks and what order his hair supplies are in. I actually don't think he's ever used a hairbrush in his life, but in his defense, Garret hasn't in at least seven years, either. Anyways, Feedback and general tips for writing are greatly appreciated! I always love hearing from people who read what I write.