Post by flesheater on Oct 7, 2012 23:51:58 GMT -5
I wrote this for a "Literary Maneuvers" Challenge on www.writingforums.com and figured I'd post it here to share with you. Hopefully this makes your skin crawl or at least make you never want to step foot near the ocean again. 
“The Dead of the Sea”
By Matthew A. Campbell
“The sea has its ways of bringing you back to her.”
“To sleep forever, in her cold embrace.”
Jack and Vance recited the lore in dreadful accord. Neither man could ever forget those condemning words.
Both men stood in silence, listening to the soothing sounds of the calming ocean, feeling the boat rock gently beneath their feet. The sun was nearing the western horizon; its radiance gleamed across the water for what seemed miles. It was tranquil, and the two men felt the void of these waters within them.
Jack and Vance met in 1942 through their enlistment in the U.S. Navy. The majority of their military time had been spent in the bloody entanglements of war. They were two of the twelve hundred men stationed on the USS Indianapolis when it was shot down by the Imperial Navy in 1945.
The sinking ship claimed the lives of three hundred men, dragging them down to its desolate, oceanic grave. The remaining nine hundred struggled against the currents of the maelstrom, only to find that they faced a new battle within the natural elements of the harsh sea. Some died of starvation or dehydration; some claimed their own lives, while others were drug out to sea by the sharks to accompany the dead. Three hundred men survived the battle of the elements, escaping the ferociousness of the depths beyond.
The sea, however, does not rest idly, lost in the forgotten lapses of time; it lures you in, beckoning your return. That is the real testament to survival, to escape the dead of the sea. It’s something that every seafaring man knows.
“You don’t think that old myth is true, do you Jack?” asked Vance.
“40 years ago we vowed never again to sail over these waters. And look; here we are now, right where my nightmares keep bringing me back to.”
Vance’s eyes squinted as he relinquished a defeated sigh; he wore the face of a solemn man, realizing his dismal fate.
“There’s no use in running anymore is there?”
Jack nervously cleared his throat as he struggled for the words.
“No old friend, I don’t believe there is.”
Vance felt that unloving coldness rush over him as he reminisced of the calm, haunting air that accompanied that night in 1945. It was the calm before the coming storm and it chilled the atmosphere. The panic, the all too familiar screams, they all seemed to come back to him at that moment, staring into the endless horizon.
It was then that he noticed the glass complexion of the calm water breaking into chaos. It bubbled like a boiling pot of water all around their boat. Jack saw it too.
“It’s them, isn’t it?” Vance’s voice cracked as he spoke.
“Yes” Jack said in a stern, cold voice.
The war hardened eyes of both these men portrayed fear like never before as they watched the horror unfold around them. They slowly stepped back towards the center of their boat. The innumerable mass of pallid, pale hands crept over the side as the dead clawed and grappled their way along the boat’s deck.
Legions of the dead confined them as they amassed in the surrounding water. Those that had crawled aboard stood silently around them, gathered together for the coming ceremony. Jack and Vance stared into those vacant, cloudy white eyes in an attempt to avoid their torn, tattered, half eaten bodies. This was their fate, their damnation; they had escaped these waters once before, but the unrelenting curse of the sea summoned them.
The dead parted an aisle that led to the ocean water as the men walked to the edge of the boat. They peered into the depths of her great, dark abyss as she called out to them in her beautiful, mesmeric tone. Inhaling their last breath of life, the air nourished their lungs as they submitted to her will.
“The Dead of the Sea”
By Matthew A. Campbell
“The sea has its ways of bringing you back to her.”
“To sleep forever, in her cold embrace.”
Jack and Vance recited the lore in dreadful accord. Neither man could ever forget those condemning words.
Both men stood in silence, listening to the soothing sounds of the calming ocean, feeling the boat rock gently beneath their feet. The sun was nearing the western horizon; its radiance gleamed across the water for what seemed miles. It was tranquil, and the two men felt the void of these waters within them.
Jack and Vance met in 1942 through their enlistment in the U.S. Navy. The majority of their military time had been spent in the bloody entanglements of war. They were two of the twelve hundred men stationed on the USS Indianapolis when it was shot down by the Imperial Navy in 1945.
The sinking ship claimed the lives of three hundred men, dragging them down to its desolate, oceanic grave. The remaining nine hundred struggled against the currents of the maelstrom, only to find that they faced a new battle within the natural elements of the harsh sea. Some died of starvation or dehydration; some claimed their own lives, while others were drug out to sea by the sharks to accompany the dead. Three hundred men survived the battle of the elements, escaping the ferociousness of the depths beyond.
The sea, however, does not rest idly, lost in the forgotten lapses of time; it lures you in, beckoning your return. That is the real testament to survival, to escape the dead of the sea. It’s something that every seafaring man knows.
“You don’t think that old myth is true, do you Jack?” asked Vance.
“40 years ago we vowed never again to sail over these waters. And look; here we are now, right where my nightmares keep bringing me back to.”
Vance’s eyes squinted as he relinquished a defeated sigh; he wore the face of a solemn man, realizing his dismal fate.
“There’s no use in running anymore is there?”
Jack nervously cleared his throat as he struggled for the words.
“No old friend, I don’t believe there is.”
Vance felt that unloving coldness rush over him as he reminisced of the calm, haunting air that accompanied that night in 1945. It was the calm before the coming storm and it chilled the atmosphere. The panic, the all too familiar screams, they all seemed to come back to him at that moment, staring into the endless horizon.
It was then that he noticed the glass complexion of the calm water breaking into chaos. It bubbled like a boiling pot of water all around their boat. Jack saw it too.
“It’s them, isn’t it?” Vance’s voice cracked as he spoke.
“Yes” Jack said in a stern, cold voice.
The war hardened eyes of both these men portrayed fear like never before as they watched the horror unfold around them. They slowly stepped back towards the center of their boat. The innumerable mass of pallid, pale hands crept over the side as the dead clawed and grappled their way along the boat’s deck.
Legions of the dead confined them as they amassed in the surrounding water. Those that had crawled aboard stood silently around them, gathered together for the coming ceremony. Jack and Vance stared into those vacant, cloudy white eyes in an attempt to avoid their torn, tattered, half eaten bodies. This was their fate, their damnation; they had escaped these waters once before, but the unrelenting curse of the sea summoned them.
The dead parted an aisle that led to the ocean water as the men walked to the edge of the boat. They peered into the depths of her great, dark abyss as she called out to them in her beautiful, mesmeric tone. Inhaling their last breath of life, the air nourished their lungs as they submitted to her will.
