A lone man, shrouded in darkness, limps down an abandoned shoreline, his breath hindered and face plaster-white. A cold wind rolls in from the sea, and he turns his face towards the water. Then he sees it; at first, he thinks it a trick of the light, but upon a second glance, he knows what he sees is certainly there: a shadow, long and horrible, staring back at him from the deep. The man strains his eyes, trying to decide if the shadow is indeed human, or perhaps a creature of the sea. His mind itches, and a strange memory begins to play in his head: an old friend, a sad song, and a life lost to the deep. He shakes his head, concentrating once more on the strange thing in the water. Yet his mind diverges again, and suddenly, he is aboard his old fishing boat, and standing next to him is his partner; Tiger, his best friend. The man gasps in recognition, and Tiger almost smiles back, before letting out a sharp bark that seems to say, “Where have you been?” Hope surges through the man’s tired eyes, before receding in an instant. He remembers then that his heart is the enemy, tricking his mind into pretending that Tiger is still here, still by his side, ready to follow him into roaring storms, deep blue waters, and an unforgiving sea. He focuses again on the shadow, for the man has two weaknesses: his curiosity, and his love for Tiger. To escape the crushing weight that is Tiger’s absence, he decides to go against his better judgement and chase the carrot on the stick. The man, leaving his good sense behind, walks up to the water. Without thinking, he dives into the inky water, and the cold runs through him like lightning, kickstarting his heart and pumping adrenaline through his long-stagnant muscles.
His arms thrash against the waves, which crash down upon his back like heavy slabs of stone. Salt stings his eyes and his lungs weigh down his chest, but he swims on, his curiosity slowly fading into something stronger. And as he raises his head above water for one gasp of air, he sees it in front of him; half submerged in a stream of swirling seafoam, coated in clams and sea-grime, is a wooden mast. He swims closer, and a surge of seawater rises from behind him, slamming into the mast, causing the whole structure to groan and sink further into the churning waters. A sharp noise catches the man’s attention, and his heart jolts so hard he momentarily sinks beneath the surface, choking on water he’s inhaled; he knows that noise too well, has heard it in sleep, has woken from his slumber, terrified, only to hear it echo in the darkest corners of his chest. As his gaze shifts up, he realizes the call is coming from the crows nest. He is no longer afraid. Fear is what sank his ship that night. Fear is what took Tiger away from him. The man swims up to the mast, hosting himself onto the frayed woolen rope that dangles from the top. He climbs, his will and steadiness powering him through the blasts of wind that rattle his bones. Another wave slams into the mast, and it sinks down again, threatening to snap completely, yet the man climbs on, hands bleeding freely and heart pounding threateningly up into his throat. He pulls himself onto the crows nest, wheezing for breath and clutching his side, and suddenly, time stops
The storm goes quiet, the wind sails away, and the waves recede into the night. There, in the corner of the nest, is a tiny bundle, soaked through by the rain. It trembles, and as the man shifts his weight toward it, it whimpers in fear. The man shushes it, gently pulling it close to him and lifting the edge. Inside, curled into a ball, is a pup, fur drenched and eyes open wide. It stares up at the man, and when the man laughs in surprise, the pup seems to smile. The man pulls it to his chest; it is warm against his skin.
A single tear rolls down the man’s face.
“Hi, Tiger.”