UNDER THE OCEAN (Original)

Chapter Three: A troubled soul

 High up in a cleft of the cliff face was a figure sitting soaking wet: cold and shivering. No one seemed to notice him as he looked far down below at the dark vicious soup of rocks and turbulent waves. Contemplating. Raging inside, he was planning a dreadful thing, a hopeless thing for any person to consider. His mind was frustrated, annoyed. He felt useless and worthless: he felt he could not even hold a job for longer than a week.

The youth was tall, gangly. Eighteen years old. His hair was unkempt, scraggly and clinging to his narrow, ruddy face like a spider’s web because of the heavy downpour. He sat in the rain, not only alone but also lonely. Listening to the roaring ocean below him. This must be my only friend he thought. The only one whom I can talk to and reveal my deepest, most secret urges.

No one seemed to care what he tried to do in this life. He was rather clumsy at times; but any teenager with size fourteen shoes is bound to be a little clumsy. The final straw for him was an incident at work that day with a paintbrush, a can of paint and a painful fall from a ladder.

He remembered how much it hurt when he landed on the grey-haired lady’s car and how big the dent was that he had made, and how far the blue paint splattered all around as he tripped over his toes and fell. It was also the last straw for his misunderstanding boss. After that unfortunate event, the teenager was fired.

Higher than the deepest roar below him, another clap of thunder sounded immediately above. Lightning flashed bright and unfriendly. He was between two great forces he did not understand. His world was one of bothersome mystery. One he did not wish to solve anymore. Yes, today was a good day to end it all: a good day to die.

He looked down again and wondered how long it would take to reach the bottom after his jump. Would it hurt?

The wind roared and kissed his face. He stood unsteady and looked up; nearly closing his eyes ready to embrace this life-ending decision.

Before they were completely closed, his right eye caught a glimpse of a most absurd sight, at eye level and to his right. Whatever it was, it was hurtling fast. It helplessly propelled toward a deadly collision course with the roaring sea. The terrific speed it traveled made him think of a torpedo out of control. It spun violently end to end, but it was square, not cylindrical. It had no pointy snout, but looked more like a large silver shoe box with wheels. With wheels? What the. . .

It glistened in the low moonlight as it shot out from what must have been atop of the cliff. It had well and truly cleared the sand and was on a low angled decent into the unforgiving span of ocean below. Could it be a flying caravan? Surely not! Although it was quite dark, the youth was convinced that it was a caravan.

His sharp eyes strained to see inside. Another flash of lightning confirmed his most outrageous thoughts: there seemed to be at least two people inside, possibly three. They looked like children!

The lightning flashed again and split open the night sky from across the other side of this caravan. He was able to see through the tinted windows, only briefly but long enough to notice exactly what was inside. The lightning lit up the sky like a flood lamp and that is what he saw – some small figures like children inside the box-like missile.

Well, you can imagine how he felt when he saw that! His silly idea of jumping to his demise was very quickly forgotten. He dashed down the cliff as fast as his legs and hands enabled him. The young man may not have been good at many things but he knew he was good at swimming.

The caravan hit the water with a splash and slowly began to sink.

He took note of where the caravan had landed and continued down the cliff. Racing across the sand, he found the water freezing and paused a moment. No! He must keep going. He dashed in while the mill of churning water ascended his skinny but strong legs to his waist. He dived in and began swimming powerful freestyle towards where the caravan would have been. It was no longer afloat but now slipped silently under the deep blue-green surface.

Even though he did not know exactly what he would do when he reached that place, neither did he know how deep the water may have been, nor how strong the currents were. He did not really care anyway! He had determined that he was going to give it his best shot to rescue those poor children he was convinced he had seen in that caravan. Oh how strange, oh how bizarre. Was he hallucinating? Was he going mad?

Drawing closer proved more difficult than he expected. Thick seaweed gathered around his big feet, hindering his progress as he kicked to release it. The waves crashed around and pushed him far off course from his planned route. It pressed him dangerously close to the vicious rocks. His powerful strokes did not seem nearly as powerful as this force, he now found himself pitted against. The icy water was taking its toll, cramping his muscles, ebbing his strength away. The sea was a frightful force with which to contend.

A huge wave approached, towering above his head. It lifted him up, tossed him around like a cork; yet he continued with strained lungs and a burning heart. It proved too much and tossed him into the black, brutal rocks as if he was a rag-doll. He felt the bite of cold rock against warm flesh. An unmerciful force and a weak opponent. It was not fair! Then again, who said life would be fair?

As he fought gallantly one more time, he felt a crack around his ears; and then Silence. His bright-green eyes darkened. It was a strange thing: it was as if he had made it, and was right there with the children face to face. He was knocked unconscious.