Dan & Phil Oneshots

Child of the Ocean

Since he was little, Dan Howell would toddle down to the cliff side by his house and watch the waves roll in. He would babble mindlessly, as he was only 3 years old, as he felt the spray of the sea brush against his skin. His mother and father would watch from a distance, allowing the young fellow to enjoy his time with the sea.

Nowadays, Dan was much older and more self-sufficient. He still babbled mindlessly, but that was only when the stress of school would get to him. On days like that, he would snatch his easel, canvas, and oil paints before heading to the cliff he's stood on since he was little. The waves would crash against the rocky side, the sound so loud it blocked out the noises of heavy traffic from the nearby road. It was his safe space, his haven. A place where no one else was.

On this particular occasion, it was a surprisingly good day at school that set him in the mood to paint. His mother warned him earlier about an incoming storm, but the ominous clouds only made it more enticing for him to go out. His father was still at work and his mother had gone out to run errands, so Dan ran up to his room, dropped his book bag, and sprinted to the cliff side with his trusty canvas and oil paints. It was getting a bit windy, so he didn't bother bringing an easel.

Like his mother said, the storm was well formed by the time he flopped down on the rocks. The wind was pretty heavy, the sky was dark, and the waves reached higher and higher as time went on. Not wanting to waste the precious view, Dan got to work on smearing and swirling paints. Little by little, the peaks of treacherous waves were formed against outlines of dull cliff sides. The water was colored a deep blue, so deep it was almost black. The painting took on a more sinister tone as the sky was formed, mimicking the sky above Dan's own head.

A strong gust of wind knocked one of the paint brushes out of Dan's hand and sent it rolling towards the cliff's edge. Not wanting to waste a good $15, Dan set his stuff down and sprinted after it. He picked it up and turned around, but before he could walk away, a strong gust of wind forced him to lose his balance and trip on a rock. He reached his arms out to brace himself for when he would hit the ground, but his heart stopped when he felt nothing. He watched as his feet left the ground, falling down with the rest of him to the crashing waters below.

He let out a terrified wail as the waves soared up to meet him, intending to suck him in and drown him. Dan braced for the impact and waited. Soon, his body forcefully smacked against the water. He felt the cold seep through his clothes, turning him into a shivering, frightened mess. He tried to paddle to get his head to breach the surface, but to no avail did it help. He found his vision start to fade at the edges as the cold made him exhausted. He flailed uselessly a couple more times before succumbing to the violent ebb and flow of the current. He could barely see now and had lost feeling in several limbs. He watched the last few bubbles rise away from his mouth, sailing upward where he wanted to be. Pitifully, his eyes fluttered shut and he relaxed his entire body.

He swore he could've been dreaming, maybe because of the shock of hypothermia, but he could hear little whispers as his body floated. Eventually, the voice grew louder, audible to the point where he could make out what it was saying. "Oh no. I cannot destroy something that has loved me so beautifully."

He vaguely felt his body rising, soon breaching the water and landing forcefully on the ground. Dan coughed and spluttered, clearing the water from his lungs. He struggled to open his eyes, and once he did, he found himself on the top of the cliff once again. The brush he had tried to rescue lied next to him. His slightly wet canvas and paints were undisturbed from where he had left them.

He looked around, frantically trying to find who had saved him. He looked over the cliff's edge in hopes of finding a nearby fishing vessel or motor boat, but there was none. Not wanting to freeze to death, Dan collected his art supplies and walked alongside the road until he came to his house.