He leaned on the railing, watching as the ship was unloaded. Aboard were things he needed, things which might get him killed. They would either find him or not; there was nothing else he could do.
“Have they found anything, sir?”
He glanced back. “Nothing yet.”
“Shall I?”
Van Helsing was out there somewhere. Waiting.
“Take the car and pick up the crate.”
“And you?”
“I’ll meet you at the house.”
“Yes, sir.”
As soon as the sound of the car faded, he moved. Van Helsing would never see him coming.
“I am the shore and the ocean, awaiting myself on both sides.”
― Dejan Stojanovic, The Shape
“There’s nothing wrong with enjoying looking at the surface of the ocean itself, except that when you finally see what goes on underwater,you realize that you’ve been missing the whole point of the ocean. Staying on the surface all the time is like going to the circus and staring at the outside of the tent.”
― Dave Barry
|
“All the waters in the oceans won’t fill a bucket with a hole in it”
— Mike Carey (Lucifer, Vol. 1: Devil in the Gateway) |
The idea of Sunday Photo Fiction is to create a story/poem using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide.
To learn more click Here
John leaned over the seat, staring fixedly out the window. “Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“The whisper.”
“Whisper.”
He shook his head. “Are you with me or not?”
“Yeah, I’m with you,” Ted replied, rather lackadaisical.
If it was only him, so be it. Nobody else had ever come up with a plan so diabolical in the history of mankind. At least since the invention of autos and antenna and so forth.
This year was going to be a bonanza.
“You sure this is a good place? Shouldn’t we be in the woods or something?”
“Shussssh.”
He heard the whisper again, the sounds of them coming in, drawn to the rough and tumble of the port. A moment later, he spied the tiny dots of them, growing larger as they came, filling the bridge of the sky, cries like battle calls as they dove and fought over the leaving from the ships.
Sliding open the side door, John started shooting, whooping for joy.
Seagull hunting never had it so good!
It wasn’t the helmet which made It so scary, it was the fact the rest of It looked like a normal human being. They were sneaky that way. Had learned to blend in. Which wasn’t going to save the little girl, smart as she was to hide under the cushions. On land, their one weakness was their eyes. Couldn’t see worth a damn dry so It might take her as a cushion if she remained still and silent.
I raised my weapon. It turned. Fish-eyes in a fish-bowl of water. Screams, girl. Flash, It. Squeezed tri-…
“Me,” she whispered as she ran home.
“What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark? It would be like sleep without dreams.”
― Werner Herzog
Yet another unknown creature caught off the shores of Chincoteague Island.
Catfish:)
A Writer's Life 
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