Ohmu’s Symbiosis

He gripped his dagger’s coarse hilt, studying his sanguine, tinged reflection through the lingering bits of bone left on the blade. The jagged edge cut off the image at its neck, as the man’s small boat swayed to the soft rhythm of the waves. He turned his attention to the sea in front of him. At the horizon, dark waters met a pale sky under the cover of a light mist. The man sighed laboriously, stirring up the otherwise-still air around him. The calm of his surroundings enticed his mind to wander, but he fought off the idling thoughts clambering onto his shoulders and grabbed his well-worn net. Fishing was sure to keep their tentacles at bay, at least for now. He threw the net into the sea and scanned for the faintest hint of sea life that was unfortunate enough to fall into its grasp. In just moments, the sea offered a handful of mackerel that the man snatched up without a second thought. He studied each of the four fish. There were three females, two of which were relatively young, while the male was a fully grown adult. He carefully sliced the fish, dividing the parts that were safe to eat into three separate piles. If he rationed properly, this would be enough to last him three days. Yet, with each stroke of his blade, his stomach yearned for more. Saliva began to fill his mouth. His fingers tensed up in anticipation. As the seconds ticked by, more and more fish seemed to gather by the boat. At this, he discarded the notion of rations. He repeatedly cast his net into the salty waters, capturing enough prey to engorge his former family. The three piles turned to five, then ten, then twenty. His mania only halted once his net had been torn from his grip and lost to the deep blue below. He muttered a curse under his breath and fell back in defeat. Upon slamming against the side of the boat, his chest jerked forward, and he began to cough violently. His lungs, lined with sulfur, desperately expelled air as he scrambled to the side of the boat. He reached down into the water for some sort of aid, but as he stretched forward, the sea curled away. The sea had gone silent, only moving to refuse the man. Hints of black dust stained the air in front of him, reminding him of the life that was taken away from him. He thought about the miners pressing ever deep into the earthen core in search of riches to push the town forward. He thought of the explosion that rocked the ground he stood on, the fires that claimed the lives of his two daughters, and the smog that suffocated his wife. Perhaps it was his time to join them. But his coughing slowed, and he steadily regained his bearings. This, however, did not come without a price. His mind was fully consumed with the events leading to his situation. He contemplated all of the ways he may have been able to save his family or how such a tragedy could have been prevented. His eyes unfocused, and everything became an incoherent blur. Everything, except the dagger that lay by his feet. It reflected a light glimmer into his eyes, and he traced its edge with his finger. His finger grazed the splintering wood and stopped just sort of the pilfered fish. He looked upon the lifeless amalgamation. He looked away and gulped. Then, throwing his whole weight into the pile, the corpses flew back into the ocean. Water splashed onto his face, dripping down from his eyebrows. Next, he launched the dagger behind him. It soared through the air until it was swallowed by the low-hanging fog. Thunder cracked as it left his hands. As clouds began to form above him, he shook his head. “Not again,” he proclaimed. He hung his legs over the enigma below, took one final breath, and dove. And as the raindrops began to tap against the ocean’s face, its familiar dance was restored. Albeit, with an ever so slightly unique cadence.

Story by Derek Pena Design by Erin McLoughlin Illustration by Nikita Patel

Fall 2020