[Fan Fiction] Anchored
I am drowning.
I am begging for mere gasps of air, yet I am getting none. My lungs are being filled with water, as is my heart with hatred. Everything around me is darker than any night at sea.
Yet I cannot die.
My lungs are brimming with seawater – still I can breathe.
My eyes are tight shut – still I can see.
What kind of torment is this?
My suit is too heavy for me to swim. I try, but I cannot move. Not upwards. Then if not swim, I shall walk. I would lie if I called this walk though: crawl would be the best word to describe it. As long as I can walk, or wade, or lurch, or crawl at least, I still have hope.
Hope I can still see the lights of my home.
They are nothing more than beasts.
Nothing more than the beasts circling my powerless body. I can hear them gnash their teeth: Cha-cha-cha-chattering like chains. Like the chains that were supposed to keep me from the deep. I can still hear the bonds breaking – the bonds that tied me to my crew. Broken not by force, but by pathetic treachery.
When I get out of this prison of water and steel, I will break them like the chains. I will crush their bones under my feet. I will drown them like I have been drowning. They will feel the despair I have to feel. See who will lose their hope, will, sanity first!
Brother, your weakness will not be forgotten!
Sometimes I think this anchor just weighs me down.
This anchor is what keeps me down; this anchor is what ties me to the surface. I cannot leave it.
I cannot travel with it, I cannot travel without it. It makes the effort worthwhile, yet at the same, it makes the effort worthless. It keeps my body drowned, it keeps my heart afloat. There is no light or warmth in this darkness – if not to this anchor, what else could I cling to? This anchor reminds me of who I am, and if I lose it, I will lose myself. I cannot afford to lose it; it is the only friend I haven’t lost yet.
Everything hurts down here.
Not this oceanic prison, the pain hides deeper, down in my heart. The weight of my feelings drags my heart down into desperation. How come the same anguish that is drowning me lets me stay alive? I want to die, but at the same time, the thirst for revenge or reconciliation is towing me like fisherman’s line.
Wasn’t it a fisherman’s line that dragged me down as well?
The darkness is my only beacon in this abyss devoid of light. The farther it is, the closer I am to home. Lady knows whether I can see the light of day ever again.
I cannot move forward.
I won’t turn back either.
This wall makes me want to throw my anchor away in fury! How am I supposed to overcome the impossible? The burden is overbearing. I want to throw my everything away! But I will never do that, this anchor is my last and only hope to get out of here, alive or not.
I swing the anchor, and wait for it to latch.
Successfully, I grab the chain and climb my way towards the surface. The anchor that has been weighing me down is now lifting me towards freedom. For the first time during this torturous experience, I feel like I am free. The suit still clings tight to my skin, but I am not crawling, or lurching, or wading, or even walking: I am flying.
I reach the top of the shelf, and the anchor yet again rests its weight on my shoulders. This time, the sea tastes different. The impenetrable black faded away to be replaced by soothing azure. Sea monsters are left behind as countless colorful species of fish trot the coastal waters like birds trot the sky.
Birds.
If I can hear the dock jigglejays once again, then only I will know true freedom. I mustn’t forget I am still tied to the depths of the Bilgewater Sea.
Soon enough, I shall leave the ocean on my shoulders behind me.
The light – I can see it. I can feel it!
No more darkness, no more cold, no more pain!
I break the line between the water and the air. It’s like I can touch the starry sky!
And this! This is what the air tastes like!
No!
The taste is different! The fresh breeze of the sea is stained with the scent of human blood. The bitter salty tang feels uncomfortably uplifting among the horrible smells of sweat, gunpowder and flesh. This is not what Bilgewater used to feel like!
I look around: picturesque wooden houses are replaced with barracks clad in iron and brass. Where the proud dock sentinels used to stand watch, brutish thugs are now sharpening their sabers. Lit by oil-fueled torches, carcasses of hideous marine monsters lay impaled among… dismembered human corpses?!
What has happened to my hometown!
I rush through what remains of the Pier Street towards my house. The cutthroats have finally taken notice. They seem surprisingly disturbed by my appearance, like they have never seen a deepdiver before. They take ropes and guns to take me down. Fools! This metal has survived the darkest depths of the ocean. Do you think your clumsy guns can pierce through? Do you think your burlap ropes can stand a chance when even the abyssal sands did not?
Home. I am mere yards from my home now, no matter how alien I feel in these streets.
This vulgar brothel is NOT my home!
I enter the building as filthy courtesans scream around me, hiding from and behind splintered pieces of furniture. I call my wife’s name. I call to my son and daughter. The only answers are frightened screams and angry shouts and shotgun blasts.
The pain.
The hatred.
The fury!
THE ANGER!
THE AGONY!
I smash my anchor to the ground. I can hear the ocean’s wrath swirl around me! The turmoil wraps around the cracking foundations of this rag-tag abomination that used to be my home!
The sea itself has come with me to take this wicked place down!
No mercy!
My crew will pay. My brother will pay. But most of all, it will be the one who spoiled my precious hometown. Whoever made the pearl of the Eastern coast fall from grace – I will find the man…
And I will drown him in the darkest of depths!
Author's note:
Thank you for reading my very first piece of fan fiction prose. While I have been tempted countless times, so far I have always resisted the urge to write simple short stories upon inspiration (either that or I have been lazy :P). Somehow my train of thought came across the infamous Titan of the Depths, and the strange sense of compassion eventually drew me towards my laptop drawing board. Usually, my inspiration makes me write pieces of poetry I dare not share publicly (aside from a certain recent LoL-affiliated incident) instead.
I am not a born English speaker and definitely not a weathered writer, which gives me trouble finding the right expressions (let alone idioms) to use in my works. Hopefully the story will be up to snuff and enjoyable to read. :)
And by the way, while my work is not inspired by the "Good Death" story, I can't deny it might have had influence on it.
