In 500... (or less)

The Spectre of the Sea

The fisherman squinted as he thought he saw a figure on the shore. Who would be out at this hour?

It was just before dawn. The wind was howling and the boat had been forced away from the shore by it. It had been a long, restless night.

"Who's there?" the man cried plaintively.

There was only a howl in response, the gale blew in his face, flapping the loose sails loudly. There was no use in raising them, unless the boat meant to cross the lake.

"Can you hear me!?"

"There's no one there," one of the fisherman's companions said. "No one would be out in this weather."

"You're seeing things," he continued. "We've been up all night fighting this weather, you must be imagining things."

"I swear I saw someone," the fisherman said.

He shifted his focus away from the shoreline for a moment, but was drawn back to it almost immediately, as he saw something move.

"There!" he yelled, pointing at the coastline. "There is something there."

The others scanned the shore but saw nothing.

"Come on, help me with this," one of the others said. "We've going to try to tack along the wind. We just want to get off this God-forsaken lake."

He handed the fisherman a rope. They set about their task, though the fisherman found himself glancing over his shoulder at the shape on the shore. It was gone.

"Perhaps it was my imagination," he thought as he tugged on the rope.

The work was back-breaking and without reward. The men found the wind shifted as they tried in vain to put ashore. The rollicking waves tossed the boat about with even more fury than before.

"What is that!?" one of the men yelped. "Over there!"

In unison their heads all turned, except for the fisherman. It was the spot on the shore he had seen the figure.

There was an ethereal glow near the shore, a solemn figure seem to dance above the waves, slowly making its way toward the beleaguered men.

"It's a spirit!" one shouted. 

"Be gone!" another said. "We are but poor souls like yourself. Trouble us no more!"

The glow seemed to dissipate and in the soft pinkish glow of the sunrise, the figure became clearer. It was a man.

"What's he doing? The sea is too rough to wade in."

"He's not wading," the fisherman said. "Look."

Indeed, the man seemed to be hovering on the water, moving effortlessly through the heavy waves, unfettered by the howling wind.

"Who are you?!"

"Don't worry," came the reply. "It's me."

"Jesus?!" The fisherman groaned. "Really? Now you're walking on water? Why do you always have to show off?"

"Sorry," Jesus replied. "We were going to be out on the boat all day and I had to get my steps in."