Trade Winds teased at the edges of sultry West Indian night. A small fishing boat with a scarred, rusting bow advanced jauntily through the tepid blue. The pale disc in the sky illuminated the webbed fishing net that descended downward into watery darkness.
A lone watchman contemplated the receding coastline. His brown, weather beaten face was prickly with a few days’ overgrowth. Red eyed from lack of sleep and the ganja smoke swirling about his fingers and streaming from his nostrils, he blew the occasional smoke ring while grinning wryly at the man in the moon. Every now and then, he hummed tunelessly along with the radio.
Something in the water flopped, something huge. He frowned in puzzlement. Ripples fanned out from ahead, rocking the boat. He gawked in open-mouthed shock. A ghostly beacon sliced through the depths, shooting up into the night sky. His spliff fell out of his mouth and into the churning sea. He looked downward and one gigantic, malevolent eye met his stare.
The old man cried out in terror. His legs gave out. His companion came running from the cramped hold. He looked around and then in puzzlement at the old man, but there was nothing but the night and his friend’s incoherent stammering.
Tags: 1flashficdaily, dailydrabble, flash fiction, fridayflash, scifi, speculative fiction
Latest Comments