Lost at Sea

Jasper wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there staring at the water before it started to turn color. There was a definite scuffle outside and he watched, horrified, as small pink tendrils began to reach into his little safe haven. There was so much of it that the entire pool was beginning to tinge.

He shuddered violently and scrambled on all fours behind the same rock he’d hid the trap. Once again he gripped the seaweed rope and peeked out at the calm waters.

He crouched there so long that his legs became stiff and sore. The water cleared and yet still the pressure around his chest did not lessen. Visions of Eleanor being hurt-- or worse, killed-- swam behind his eyes every time he squeezed them shut.

The gut-wrenching feeling he had was a tell-tale sign that he was in a little deeper than he’d originally thought. All the time he’d spent trying to separate the siren from the memory of his wife was for naught-- no matter what she was, he’d love her regardless with all his being.

Jasper stood clumsily and stumbled out into the open, clutching his head. He had assumed that solitude was what he wanted all these years, but now the silence around him echoed louder than a thousand wailing voices. He wasn’t sure he’d make it through losing her again.

He knew then what he had to do. If she was alive and came back, he’d tell her everything. He’d tell her about how they met, how they loved, how they ended up on that cursed boat in the first place. He would hold nothing back.

This, at least, he thought he could do.