#cthylla

Living by the ocean was a dream for some.

For you, well, it was everything.

The ocean was all you really knew.

The way it smelled. The way you could taste the salt on your tongue when you licked your lips. When low tide came, the ocean would reveal small secrets like shells or sea glass, only to be swept away during the high tides. It would always leave goosebumps on your skin whenever you first entered, always a brief chill before your body dramatically accumulated to it.

The ocean was all you knew.

You grew up in a town off of the coast. It's a small fishing village. With rocky cliff faces, the taste of the sea salt in the air, and you can smell the harbor even when you're deep inland. Your parents were apart of a fishermen company, working out on the open sea to provide fish and crustaceans. Your parents used to take you with them if they knew they weren't going too far away from the land. Other times, your next door neighbor, Mrs. Landrum, would watch you until your parents returned.

The ocean was all you knew.

Or, at least…

You thought you did.

The sound of the boat's horn snapped you out of your day dreaming. You lifted your head up, more alert now as you instinctively looked to the door. Your mother emerged from it, grabbing the wall to steady herself as she gave out a deep sigh. Her expression was clearly exhausted, tired from the busy day they've been having. You could see it in the soft bags under her eyes, and the way her shoulders drooped. But your attention snapped back to her face when she gave you a soft smile.

"Hey, kiddo. We're gonna be docking soon," your mom explained as she clutched onto the doorway just a little tighter as you felt your world lean left. "You know the drill. Gather your things and head to the deck. Your dad and I have to meet with Gus to discuss Quota."

Oh boy… You couldn't help but think. You knew what that meant.

Gus was your parent's boss. He wasn't the owner of the business or anything. Just one of the leading higher ups that your parents have to report to. He wasn't that bad of a guy, really. Your father actually grew up with him. A childhood buddy of his, in a way. Gus always tried to seem like a big, mean man, who had no time for fooling around. Maybe he really didn't, you weren't too sure. But, your father always gave him a hard time during Quota days. Never afraid to speak his mind, telling a joke here or there to lighten the bitter mood, and always finding some way to make Gus crack.

He wasn't a bad man. Really. Even you at your young age knew that Gus was just a bit awkward with some people. Especially around you and your mother, for whatever reason. You were always told it's just because he's always around men his age that he forgets how to talk to a child like you. It happened so often that you never second guessed him.

It was when the boat began to drift back to the right, feeling your world tilt with the lull of the waves, that you finally responded to your mother.

"Okay, mom," you said.

She gave you another smile, leaning against the doorframe this time. One of those smiles that was a little too forced, but you knew she meant well.

Your mother leaned away from the door, and you watched her disappear when she timed the next tilt of the ship to take her. Knowing to heed your mother's advice, you began to gather you bag.

Your bag of wonders, you lovingly called it.

It always had something of yours that you treasured. Whether it was coloring crayons, pencils or markers, notepads full of messy drawings, paper clips, silly bands, or binoculars and a compass you used to watch from the side of the boat. It always had what you needed. Your mother always questioned if you needed all of those items in that bag, always finding the sight of your small body carrying around the bag that seemed to almost equally weigh as much as you, while your father seemed humored by it. He always told you how lucky you must be to have such a wonderful bag, filled with your treasures and always prepared for whatever you needed.

You took those words to heart.

Your bag of wonders was a satchel-type bag. One that mail carriers liked to use. Both of your parents had reeled it in when they were pulling their nets up one fishing trip one day. They were confused, finding a soaked bag amongst their fish. They unzipped it and found it soaked with sea water, drenched through every fiber of it, and finding ruined papers and a pens. When you found out about it, your mind raced with theories and wonder. You exclaimed that it was a pirate's bag, and the ruined letters were lost treasure maps no destroyed. Your mother called it trash, your dad saw it as something that can be renewed and reused. So, your father gifted it to you, much to your mother's dismay.

You loved it.

Maybe a zipper or two is broken, and sometimes you have to get rust remover for the flap latch, but you loved it anyways. You didn't care that some of the threads were poking out, or how one of the smaller pockets was unusable for it's sizable hole. It was your bag of wonders, and no one else's.

You gathered your papers and a book you had been reading. The book was gifted to you by Mrs. Landrum. It's been an interesting read so far, but at some points in the story you can't make heads or tails of what it's saying. A bit of a higher reading level than what you're used to, but you needed something to do on the fishing trip.

Grabbing your bag of wonders, you exited the small sleeping cabin. You walked through the ship almost with ease, your feet automatically adjusting to the way the waves tilted it. Your parents liked to tell people that you knew how to use your sea legs before you learned how to use your actual legs to walk. It never really made much sense to you, but they seemed proud of the fact, so you always let the joke slide. No matter how many times they've said it, much to your annoyance.

You climbed the stairs to make it to the deck, feeling the rockiness slowly begin to subside. The wind and salt water greeted you first, blasting you with a chill that could rattle your bones. Thankfully for you, you were so used to the chill of the ocean, you wore layers on this trip. It was getting to that time of season, where the waters were getting colder, the nights were growing longer, and the fishes were beginning to swim further away into the depth to ready themselves for winter. Fall was around the corner, not quite yet hitting, but the chill was there.

Today you had worn a dark blue long sleeve with black sweatpants. Over it, almost swallowing your frame, was your favorite hoodie jacket. It was a dark color, with the logo of the fishing company your family was apart of. You wore the hoodie everywhere. It was comfortable, and it was baggy in a way that hide your frame. So big in fact that your mother liked to joke that you could hide in it like a secret fort.

You didn't mind her jests. You just liked the hoodie.

As your eyes adjusted to the change of lighting, you looked up to see the scene in front of the boat. Dead ahead was your home town, born and raised, as you were sure you'd never leave. Your eyes catch the sight of other boats, all heading in or already hitching to the docks. Further inland you could see the lights of the town slowly beginning to click on as night approaches. And, of course, the light of the lighthouse has begun to turn on. The circling light practically calling all those in the ocean to return to shore.

The sun was setting, but instead of a gorgeous lighting of orange and yellows, the scene was of light graying clouds that made the day seem later than it was. You could still see with your eyes, thankfully. But you know that by the next hour, the area will be so dark you can barely see past your face. You could see your mother moving around on deck, pulling at ropes and levers, making sure nothing was left hanging in the water. Although your father was nowhere in sight, you knew he was the one at the wheel, steering the boat.

You went to the port side, gazing out as you caught the sight of some of the other fishing boats. A few of them began to honk their horns, some doing it in a pattern, others giving a long tug to the horn. As if on cue, you brought your hands up to your ears, as you were sure your mother was doing the same, as your family's boat let out their own honk in acknowledgement.

Your father was an easy man to follow.

Gently you released your ears and watched the waters as you all made it to the docking port. How you watch the dimming light reflect onto the waters, just barely making notice of the rocking waves. The gray sky signaled that there will be rain, which meant dangerous waters. Even you, who was only a child the age of nine, understood that when a storm comes that being out on the ocean was a dangerous place to be. Even you could feel that sensation in your bones like adults always talked about—the kind that let you knew a storm was coming. You could smell it in the air, mixing with the salt of the sea.

It was going to be a rough storm.

When the boat made it to the docks, you began to help your parents tie the ship down. Your mother supervised you as your father spoke with some of the other fishermen, all murmuring how the storm is coming, and worried about how rough the seas will be the next day. But your father laughed, calling them cowards. Although they cursed at him through laughter, even you were beginning to be worried by this storm.

These boats were you livelihoods. They meant everything.

From the town getting to eat, to making money, and for some their homes, it was important that the boats remained undamaged. But if a storm hits, well, it could call off the entire fishing season. Money out of everyone's pockets.

That wasn't good for your town.

As you begin to contemplate how things will go, the voice of Gus rang through the air. He called for attention, everyone pausing to look at him, as they could hear his heavy foot steps rattle the decks as he walked.

Gus was a large man. Big belly. Arms with biceps the size of your head, maybe even bigger. His hands were a bit swollen from all the years of work, not to mention the scars faintly on his arms from close calls and rough catches. He had dirty blonde hair that was more dirty than blonde. Faint strands of gray was beginning to show on his head and face. Thick mutton chop beard that almost seemed thicker than the hair on top of his head. His face was flushed from the cold air, but he didn't deter. He rallied attention onto him, but yours was pulled away.

A gentle hand was placed on your back. You looked up, almost startled by the warm contrast to the chilled evening on your back. Your mother had bent down slightly to gain your attention, her hand on your back, as she smiled softly down at you again. You already knew in your mind what she was going to say to you.

"How about you take that torch with you and head home, okay kiddo?" She said softly.

You couldn't help the disappointed sigh coming from your nose. I knew it, you thought. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence. You and possibly any other fishermen kids being sent home for the night while the adults stayed up and chattered about business. It doesn't mean you have to like it, though.

"Can I stay out a little longer? Please?" You asked, giving her big eyes as your bottom lip jutted in a pout.

Her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head down in that way that you knew you couldn't argue with her about. "You know the rules, kiddo," your mother said. "Plus, it's getting late, and a storm is coming. I want you safe at home, tucked in bed."

"Fiiine," your groaned, hanging your head in defeat. You knew there was no arguing with her.

"Hey…" She spoke softly as her hand came up and gently lifted your chin, having your look into her eyes. "You know it's for your own good. But, tomorrow your father and I will be heading back out again. Would you want to join us?"

Your eyes lit up at the question. "Yes!" You exclaimed a bit too eagerly.

Your mom couldn't help but laugh, chuckling at the way your eyes had widened, and the grin on your face became so big. She pulled you in briefly, tightening her arms to give you a brief hug. You tried to hug her back, arms a bit caught by her hug, before she finally let you go. When you gazed back at her face she jutted her chin out to the other end of the dock.

"Now, run along home," your mother encouraged you, gently guiding your back to urge you forwards. "Keep to the path, and don't stray. Make sure you bring a torch with you."

"I know," you responded as you began to dig into your bag. After a brief moment of rustling, you felt the cool metal under your finger tips, and brought it up into the air. "Got it! See!"

"I do," your mother chuckled. "Be safe, kiddo. Your father and I will be home in a bit, okay?"

"Okay!" You called back as you waved goodbye.

Your mother raised her hand to wave back, watching you turn your back to her and finally walk away. Even though you could still see in front of you, the dark evening was approaching, so you flickered the torch on. A beam of light shined in front of you, and you made sure to keep it pointed down. Your father had chastised you in the past for flailing the light around too high. Apparently you had a bad habit of blinding people, your parents included. Nowadays, you try being mindful of where you point it.

Your family's house resided up on a hill near the shore, tucked in the rocky cliff faces. You could get there by the road, but you know another way. There's a small path in the cliff face, windy and tall, weaving between the rocks to the house and shore. You weren't afraid to climb the rocks, it was something you actually enjoyed. Sometimes you got to find things in the rocks, like a buoy, or sometimes even crab shells. Maybe bugs or something else the sea gave. Usually it was rocks, but there was always a chance for something for you to find.

In order to get to the path, you have to walk the beach. It wasn't too far from the fishing port, thankfully. You just had to step off of the docks. Knowing the way like the back of your hand, you began to tread the beach, feet sinking slightly with each step, as you made your way back home. You can faintly hear the sounds of the Fishermen behind you, growing quieter and muddled as you distanced yourself from them.

The night was settling faster than you had anticipated. Although you could still vaguely see, your flashlight was now becoming more needed. You weren't afraid of lifting the light any higher anymore, knowing that most often than not, people will be avoiding the beaches. Plus, this side of your town wasn't as publicized. It wasn't the most popular beach, and it was more away from the main part of town. It was skinnier, rockier, and most often times the high tides swallowed the beach. But for you, it was perfect.

You weren't afraid of the high tide yet. It was creeping, and you could tell with how the water would sometimes brush your right most shoe just barely. Not enough to soak thankfully, but enough of a reminder that a storm was coming. You should hurry yourself home. The tide will rise, swallowing the small beach, and it will swallow a bit of your cliff path. It will make it harder to traverse, making the rocks slick and slippery. You pressed on, hurrying yourself home, as you pointed your flashlight ahead.

The sounds of the water to your right, waves crashing into each other and gently lapping at the ground. The chill was beginning to sting the side of your face, chilly ocean wind hitting your frame as you walked. Arguably, being on the boat was worse. The movement plus the cold water made it hard to not feel the cold seep to your bones. But it was getting late, the sun disappearing from the sky, covered by dark gray clouds, made everything seem colder and darker than it should be.

Continuing to trudge through, your mind thinking of the book in your bag and whatever snacks may still be in your cabinets, you snap out of it when you noticed something from the corner of your eye. Your pace slowed, your attention now looking to the edge of the water. You noticed something almost rocking in the waves. It was buoyant, that much you could tell. At first you wondered if a buoy got sent ashore again. Sometimes the other fishing boats can be a bit reckless and forget their buoys.

But then something in the water splashed around it once, then twice, and you began to second guess yourself.

You almost stop your pace, attention now out on the water. You panned your flashlight over and narrowed your eyes, trying to make sense of what was out in the water. It was something that looked rather deep red bouncing amongst the waves, almost looking like a ball. But that color red was much too dark to be a basketball, even when wet. As you tried to make sense of it, suddenly you saw and heard another splash beside it.

You realized it was alive, and seeming to struggle in the current.

Curiosity began to eat at you. What was it? You had never seen something so red in the water before, and you knew it wasn't blood or paint. The mission to go home was put on hold in your mind as your attention latched onto the figure in the water, torch light focused on it, as you realized the water was pushing it to shore a little down the ways.

You just couldn't help yourself. You had to see what it was.

You picked up your pace, now lightly jogging the small beach as the rocks and sand sunk with each step. But you kept on, flashlight still focused on whatever was in the water, as you tried to see if you could meet it part way with the sea. Once you got closer your slowed down, going back to a walk, until you finally stopped and stared at it.

The water was still rocking it back and forth, the shore catching it but the cruel waters tried pulling it back. It wasn't splashing like it was before, making you wonder if it was weak from fighting the sea. You broke your sights away from it and gazed around the beach quickly, light whipping around to see if you could catch anything of use. Just a pace or two away from you was dried drift wood. A branch of some tree that washed ashore. You quickly ran to it and grabbed it. It was thick enough for you to wrap you hand around and your finger tips could touch, and the length of it was maybe from your finger tips to your elbow. You would've preferred longer, but it would have to do.

You turned your flashlight back onto the thing in the water and brought the wood with you. Careful not to hurt whatever it was, you bent down slightly and tried to tuck the end of the wood behind it. You stepped into the shallow water, your shoes now getting wet, but you didn't care for the feeling as much as you were focused on your new mission. As the water tried to pull whatever it was back into the ocean, you instead pulled it more to shore, careful with how you balanced your torch in your hand as your gripped the wood. It was a bit heavier than you expected, causing you to almost lose your grip on the wood.

So, you changed your stance. You brought the torch to your mouth, biting down on the end of it like you had seen your dad do when he was trying to fix some of the machinery, and re-gripped the wood with steadier hands. You positioned yourself to the side of the thing in the water and began pushing it to the shore, finally removing it mostly from the water. When you had begun to push it, your light a bit unsteady in the awkward way it was held it your mouth, you realized the thing was clutching onto the wood as you guided it to the shore. Water still lapped lightly at it, but it thankfully wasn't strong enough to drag it back into the sea. With the wood now lightly in your hand, you pulled the torch from your mouth and redirected the light onto it.

When you finally had a proper chance to look down at it, light illuminating the creature like it was under a spotlight, a sudden pain ached in your head. Your eyes squinted and you hissed out, not expecting a headache to come to you so suddenly. The torch light moved away from the creature, and as you steadied your breathing, the pain suddenly disappeared just as suddenly as it came.

That was weird, you thought as you opened your eyes again.

You looked back to the creature at your feet and thought of the instances that your parents chastised you for your tendency of blinding people. Not wanting to be cruel to whatever was at your feet, you instead moved the light to where it was grabbing the wood. Enough of a light to illuminate it's limbs for you, but not directly shining the light into it's eyes. Thankfully it was enough to illuminate what you were seeing.

It was an octopus… you think.

It was a deep red color, the kind that could be mistaken in rocks or maybe even blood. Long tentacles curled around it, some tucked from having been dragged to the shore, while the rest was being licked by the lapping waves on the shore. Two of it's tentacles were wrapped to the drift wood you had used to pull it ashore, probably not sure what was touching it. But you found the tentacles to be strange. You noticed lined rings colored the limbs, more condensed and darker at the tips of it's limbs, only to spread out and fade the closer to it's body it became. You couldn't quite tell what color the rings were, confused if it was black or purple, but you knew it definitely wasn't red like the rest of it.

But then you looked more at it's body and you became… even more confused.

What you had originally thought was more tentacles was actually… wings? You couldn't help but gape in amazement, your light shining a bit more as you directed it to the appendage. It was saggy, almost folding around the body of the octopus, but there was no mistaking the protrusion. It reminded you of bat wings. Skin stretched over cartilage bones. But even those wings didn't look red like it's skin. A little hook pointed from the top joint, like a claw of some kind.

But that wasn't the only startling thing about it. The little wing moved, shook with a pathetic flap that showed how exhausted the poor creature was. But as the wing had moved, it had revealed more of the creature's head. Originally what you thought was just round, circular markings, suddenly peeled back. You couldn't stop yourself from the quiet gasp that escaped, realizing that they had been eyes. A line of three eyes stared back at you. They blinked lowly, squinting, moving slowly. It was an almost unnerving sight. You moved a little bit, just a side step, ignoring the uncomfortable squish in your shoes that made you cringe a bit. And then you saw more eyes, and couldn't help but move the light to look more.

Six eyes blearily blinked at you. A set of strange, bat-like wings.

Then you saw the strange markings on the center of it's head, and you just…

…Stared.

You had no idea how long you spent staring, but you sure it was longer than you had intended. Once you snapped out of it, blinking your eyes rapidly, you realized the creature at your feet was weak. Maybe even dying. It looked like an octopus, but you had seen your fair share of them over the years. It was one of the quotas the fishing company had to make. You were no stranger to their tentacles or soft slimy bodies, and even what they tasted like, although you hated it. How their ink could burn your eyes and made your skin feel disgusting.

But this… thing. This little creature at your feet. You had no idea what it was.

The longer you stared back at it, watching it's eyes flutter open and close so slowly, the more you realized that you… pitied it. It was truly such a pathetic state. Limp, tentacles curling as it was clear it was trying to regain whatever strength it had currently lost. As much as it's eyes unsettled you, and the wings made no sense, and the even stranger markings on it's body and head just made your stomach feel like it was in knots, you found it to be so… pitiful.

Then you made up your mind. Your head snapped up and your pointed your torch light back to the docks. The lights were on, and you could vaguely see the human shapes and shadows of the fishermen still having their meeting chat. No one has noticed what has transpired. Just you, and the… thing, at your feet. With careful hands you used the drift wood to pull it more onto shore, not wanting the slow rising tide to sweep all your hard work away just yet. The poor thing just let you, eyes squinting and seeming to almost flinch at the movements, tentacles curling to protect itself as it was unsure of what you were doing.

You didn't want to lose sight of it. So, you dropped your wondrous bag near the rocky cliff walls, using it as a sort of marker for you to keep track of where the creature was. You even made sure to tuck the drift wood into the rocky, sandy dirty more, although it wasn't far, but it was enough to stick. A way for the creature to keep hold as the waves barely even touched it now. A rather poor preventative measure for the creature to hold onto in case you couldn't beat the tide, but judging by how it kept a tentacle or two wrapped around it, you hoped it understood.

"I'll be right back," you promised it as you made sure not to shine the light too much in it's eyes. "I can help you. You just, uh… stay here, okay?"

The creature just stared at you, eyes almost narrowed at you.

Hoping it wouldn't respond back, not knowing if it even could or not, you turned and ran back to the docks. The sand and rocks almost felt like they were trying to slow you down, each step sinking you and sliding towards the water, almost tripping you as you rushed back to the docks. But you ran, realizing that time wouldn't be on your side if you were slow.

Eventually you made it back to the dock harbor, your feet pounding against the uneven floor boards, slowing down only when you could finally catch wind of voices. You turned off your torch light, keeping yourself hidden as much as you could as you went to the darker side of the main tower.

You could hear Gus talking, going on about business and caught wind of something about the higher ups and the Quota. A never ending war within the company, really. Something that even you as a nine year old was tired of hearing. It was something you grew up around hearing, how your parents moaned and groaned about the higher ups putting pressure on the workers to fish up more. How the other fishermen would threw out slews of curse words and unsavory names that they would come up with to call their bosses. A small freedom of rebellion only they of the community knew about, and knew no repercussions would come of it as long as they didn't say it in front of certain people.

You could even make out your parent's voices amongst the groaning fishermen, them yelling about how unfair the company was being. Gus tried to settle them down, but more people began to speak over him, and even you realized that Gus was in a losing battle. Not wanting to see what becomes of it, you snuck into the lower part of the tower.

It was an operations tower. Originally you believed it had been a beach tower, something for people to watch beach goers in case of drownings. But when a new beach was introduced, bigger, prettier, this side of the town was abandoned for fishing operations. So, the company bought it and revamped it into what you called the Fishing Tower. Or, really just HQ.

The higher floors had the radio equipment, and more of the advance items. Phones and radios, maybe even sonars and tools for the machinery. But it was the lower floors that had more of the fishing equipment. Lockers, rods, fishing lines, cables, tools, nets, and many more things that you just didn't have time to list as you snuck into the bottom floor.

It was left unlocked, as it almost always was, since people had been getting ready to put their equipment away. Once inside you flickered your torch light on and waved it around, only to catch sight of something orange and you gleefully jumped for it. It was a bucket, wider than you, with it's jingly handle and a matching lid. When standing it was maybe a few inches below your hip. It was mainly used by some of the fishermen for more casual fishing catches, or a bucket to be used for live bait. You peeked inside, just to make sure nothing else was in there, before you turned and left the Fishing Tower.

You snuck back outside, turning the light off as you kept a hand on the handle and bucket, trying to keep quiet. You knew you'd be caught if you ran off with the bucket too soon. With how angry the fishermen were sounding, you really didn't want the adults to redirect that anger to you.

Once off of the docks, however, you ran back across the beach. It was fully dark now, and only your torch light revealed your path in front of you. You did your best not to trip, rushing back in the direction you remembered dropping your bag. As you got closer, however, you began to hear strange noises. Louder noises than you had heard before. You lifted your torchlight higher, unsure of what it could be, only to gasp in horror.

Seagulls had found the creature that you had nudged to shore. They were flapping, squawking, and trying to peck at it. The creature was clearly trying to fight back, little wings smaller than it's body flapping, tentacles pulling and coiling, as the seagulls mercilessly pecked.

You couldn't stand the sight. You understood from a young age that nature was cruel. It was an eat or be eaten world, especially in the animal kingdom. Seagulls, although seem as a dumb species, was actually a rather merciless animal. Birds that weren't afraid of many things, and will try their chances just to get a bite of food. But you knew that you couldn't let them have this creature.

Just as the gulls swarmed, the creature unable to fully fight back as it almost seemed like it was being in the air, and you even caught sight of it's tentacles being pulled, you charged in. You ran right up to the birds and swung the bucket at them, even letting out a yell to try to scare them off.

You heard a few small bats against the bucket, clearly hitting maybe some of their wings, but not fully harming the birds. They squawked and flapped away, spooked by you. You saw some trying to hover above, trying to see if they have a chance at one more peck, before you swung the bucket again and again, fully deterring them from staying. You whipped your head around, trying to see if there was anything else that would attack, but you found nothing. Now with the seagulls gone you gazed back at the little creature and… oh.

Your heart broke at the sight of it.

One of it's little wings had a new tear in it. A part of a tentacle was missing, and you could see others with scrapes and cuts. One tentacle looked as if the tip of it could fall off at any moment, tragically hanging by skin. It's eyes seemed to bounce everywhere now, two locked on you, while the other four sporadically moved around as if to watch out for danger. When you shined your light you could see it's blood was a dark, almost inky color. Something that was… also, so abnormal. But it's big eyes stared up at you, tentacles curling into itself, and even it's skin color seemed paler than before. You knew what pale skin meant to an octopus. It was hurt, and could be dying.

You found yourself on your knees before you could even think, bucket in hand as you tipped it in front of the creature. You made sure to hold it carefully, not wanting the water to push it away.

"I'm so sorry," you found yourself quietly talking to it. "I'm so, so so sorry! I should've been quicker, I'm sorry…!"

Once you set the bucket, you tried to urge it inside.

"It's okay, you're going to be okay now," You spoke kindly to it. Hoping, praying really, that it understood your intentions.

The creature seemed to stare at you, it's eyes finally calming as each bulb looked your way. You ignored the chill that went down your spine, trying not to cringe at the sight of it. It really was a freaky creature to look at before you. The more soft encouragements you gave it, however, it slowly seemed to respond.

Much to your amazement you watched it put a tentacle on the bucket, then another, and slowly it tried to climb inside. You grabbed the drift wood stick, which had fallen, probably from the gull attack, you used it to gently help the creature into the bucket. Once inside you carefully maneuvered it, looking in the bucket to make sure it was alright. It curled to the bottom, watching you from it's limited tunnel.

You climbed to your feet and dared to tread into the waters, carefully moving the bucket in a way to allow water in. You didn't want the creature's skin to dry up since it seemed so much like an octopus. You didn't let it fill all the way, just enough to slightly submerge it just a bit. With a grunt you grabbed the handle and tread out of the water, feeling the weight of the water weighing heavier than the creature. Setting the bucket down for a moment, you grabbed you remaining belongings, put the torch into your mouth and made sure to bite down, as your grabbed the bucket and headed to the cliff path.

You began to climb the path, being careful where you stepped. You tried to ignore the chill of your now wet pants legs, and the squishing in your shoes with each step, and you tried not to think about how slippery everything could be. But you forced yourself to keep forwards, waddling up the cliff with the bucket, knowing the beach will be sunken within maybe an hour. There was no going back. Only forwards.

It took you some time. Every now and then you set the bucket down to catch your breath, not realizing how harrowing the journey would be. But you knew you had to press on. You had to get the creature home. Maybe your parents would know how to help it more than you? You couldn't leave it out to die like that. With your resolve in mind, you pushed yourself forwards, carrying the bucket awkwardly in front of you as you waddled your way up the path.

By the time you made it to the top and saw your house, you set the bucket down again and took the torch out of your mouth. You huffed, hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath. Even your mouth felt sore having bit down on the torch for so long. You straightened, lightly huffing as you gazed down at the creature in the bucket. You weren't done yet, you had to make it inside of the house first.

With a groan, you lifted the bucket again and waddled to your house. Thankfully the sensor lights flickered on when it caught your movement, allowing you to see without the use of the torch anymore. You carefully minded the steps, made it to the technical back door, and jiggled with the knob until the door allowed you inside.

Once inside you kicked the door behind you shut, taking a chance to flicker some of the lights on. The first floor was rather open spaced. No walls really separated the rooms as much. The kitchen, dining room, and living room were open spaces to each other. From where you entered you were more in the living room area, and to your left would be the dining room. Further past that was the kitchen and the counter islands. Past the living room, almost dead ahead was the stairways that room you to the second floor. Your parent's bedroom, your bedroom, and even a guest room.

The only thing that really separated the rooms was the large aquariums your parents had built. Large tanks that could be almost considered a wall in themselves, but they weren't tall enough to reach the ceiling. More like counter islands that had the tanks on them, taking up space. But you loved them, truly you did. The tanks were there longer than you had been born. It was just part of your life.

For a moment you thought of placing the creature in one of the tanks. It was regulated temperatures, most of the tanks were salt water tanks, and there really wouldn't be predators that could kill the creature in your bucket. But, then you thought more on it and realized that the fish inside would instead be the prey, and you decided against it.

So, once you kicked off your soggy shoes and socks, you waddled your way towards the stairs and set the bucket down beside it. You exhaled a huff, feeling a soreness set in your arms from carrying the bucket for so long. You tried to think of what to do. How can you help this creature? Was there a spare tank somewhere that maybe they could place the creature in temporarily? As you lift your head up to gaze around, thinking of maybe going out to the shed, the front door creaking startled your attention away.

Your head whirled around just in time to see your parents step through. They were out of the wading pants and rubbery boots, probably back in the lockers back at the Fishing Tower. There was a weariness in them. An exhaustion from the long day, both of them probably worn, as they usually were. You had heard them vaguely speaking about something, hearing a "that good for nothin'–" before they stopped themselves. Their eyes settled on you, and they both pulled on smiles.

"Whoa, hey there, kiddo. You doin' okay?" Your father asked, smile on his face as he was clearly trying to set a calm mood.

Your mom's jaw seemed to set a bit tight, your father cutting her off. It was clear that she was trying not to show her anger in front of you, but you could sense it a mile away. Your mother wasn't very good at hiding her anger, but she always made it an effort to never bring it home to you.

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine." You said a bit too quickly, trying to control your breathing through your nose as you tried not to seem as tired as you were.

"What's, uh… What's that bucket there?" Your mother asked, a brow arched in question.

You stiffened. You could never hide anything well from them. Whether it was sneaking a cookie or trying to stay up late to play a game, your parents always somehow knew you were up to something.

Unfortunately, you hadn't had time to think of a lie. An excuse for why the bright, orange bucket with the company's logo was in the center of the house, like a giant "look at me" sign. A part of you wanted to face palm for not being sneakier. But you were tired, and honestly, you didn't know what to do. You glanced at the bucket, seeing the creature inside curling into themselves, before looking back to your parents.

"About that…" You tried to give a sheepish smile to your parents.

Their brows arched in question further, the door finally closing behind them, as they waited to hear what you had to say. You weren't sure if the arched brows are what was making you squirm or the crossed arms over their chest.

"I… found something washed up on shore," you confessed as you fiddled with your hands in front of you. A nervous habit you could never let go. "It looked tired, like it had been fighting the currents. So, I might've gone back and got a bucket to bring it home…?"

"You brought an animal home?" Your father asked first.

"Uh…" Could you even classify it as an animal? You had no idea. "Yeah, kinda…?" You sorta lied.

Your mother made a face, more perceptive than your father by your words. "What did you bring home, Y/N?"

You couldn't help but stiffen under her words, voice catching in your throat. What can you even call this creature? It wasn't like anything you've ever seen before. You never heard of a fish or sea animal having wings that looked like it was made for actual flying. And, last you checked, octopuses didn't need fins of any kind to move around. Their tentacles did that for them. Not to mention the six beady eyes.

"I think it's an octopus?" You said, shoulders subconsciously raising in a shrug.

Your father made a face, eyebrows pinching together. When you thought he would question you further, instead he said with a wave of his arm, "Well, bring it closer. Let's have a look at it and your Ma and I can tell ya."

Honestly you weren't sure what was worse. Him asking to see it or your mother's intense gaze. But, you know you couldn't hide the creature forever. Plus, it was hurt. If somehow your parents knew how to help it, maybe that was better than keeping it a secret.

You watched your father take a chair from the dining room and turn it around to face you. He settled into it with a sit, his heavy body settling as even you could see the exhaustion in him from today's work. But, he stared at you, practically beckoning you forward without even speaking a word. Your mother stood beside him, arms crossed, watching and waiting to see what it was.

With a huff, you bent down and picked up the bucket again. You waddled it over, being careful not to rock it too much or the water would spill, before you set it down in front of them. Your parents peers in, and just when you tensed up expecting to hear a scream, instead your father let out a low hum.

"Hmm… Yep, that looks like an octopus." Your father nodded his head.

You stared at him, only for your eyes to flicker to your mom to see her reaction. She was peering down, arms still crossed, as her tense gaze relaxed and she began to slowly nod her head.

"It's a small one," she noted. "Maybe it's still young, or… that's a female."

Okay. Now you're confused.

Your jaw slightly slacked, looking back and forth at your parents. No screams? No, curses flying? Just when you thought your dad would dramatically fall backwards out of his seat in shock, instead you got… nothing? Why were they so normal? There was no way this creature you found was normal! You held yourself back from asking questions and looked into the bucket with them.

No wonder your parents didn't react as badly as you thought they would. Somehow, the creature had… shrunk? You could've sworn it was bigger, heavier too. You hadn't noticed a change in the weight of the bucket when you had lifted it up. You could've sworn it was maybe a little bit smaller than a basket ball. Which was still a decent size. Now, though? It was maybe the size of a softball.

As for the wings and eyes, you couldn't help but be surprise. The creature was clever in what it did. It wrapped it's wings in a way that laid flat against it's body, making it look like it was apart of it's skin. Not to mention the eyes. The wings were also covering the extra eyes. Not just that, but it's color all matched with itself. No strange rings, or markings, or different colored wings.

You recalled how octopuses can camouflage with their surroundings, blending in and looking so well concealed that sometimes humans step on them on accident. You didn't voice it aloud, your mind still partially racing from it all, but you were impressed. The creature was smart. Far smarter than you gave it credit for. It made you feel… just a bit unsettled.

"Honey, is there something wrong with that tentacle there?" Your father spoke up, snapping you out of thought, as he was speaking to your mother.

She bent down and looked a little closer, seeing what he was pointing at. Her hand lightly laid on her chest and she gave a sympathetic expression. "Oh, the poor thing. It's all injured…"

"Uh, yeah, I um… I saw a bunch of seagulls attacking it, so I scared them off." You said, crossing your arms as you gazed down at the creature in the bucket.

It wasn't a lie, really. You did see it happen. That's just not how you found it. Which, honestly, you figured your parents didn't need to know. Not unless you want them to start screaming and possibly killing it.

Your father let out a huff, a smile curling to his lips as he nudged your mother. "Let's bring it to Gus and tell 'im we got Quota, make 'im pay us an extra hour, hehehe!"

Your mother smirked, a huff escaping her lips in amusement, but she didn't quite fully smile.

"No!" You yelled, eyes widened in fear.

Your parent's heads whipped up, staring at you in surprise. Clearly by the way they jumped and started at you, you had surprised them. Even you seemed startled of how loud you were. Quickly you cleared your throat and gazed at the both of them.

"We shouldn't kill it. I, uh… I wanna keep it," you dragged out the words, your mind quickly forming a sentence before you could fully think it through.

"You… want to keep it? Like a pet?" Your father asked, brow raised.

"Y-yeah, I do," you nodded your head. You've dug this grave now. There's no going back. Plus, a part of you did want to keep it. "I figured we could maybe bring it back to health, then we can just keep it as a pet?"

Your dad gave you a stern look as he placed a hand on his knee, elbow raised in the air. "Listen, kiddo. It washed up ashore, right? Then it's a wild animal. We can try to help it and let it recover, but it needs to return to the place that it belongs."

"I don't know if we have everything we need to take care of it…" Your mom murmured, looking at you with sympathetic eyes. "We can always call a wild life rescue. Hand the octopus off to them and have them care for it."

Your shoulders sag, a pout on your lips. You really wanted to keep it. But, your parents made a fair point. This wasn't the first time you've begged for an animal you found. One time you had somehow befriended a possum, and your mother screamed whilst your dad tried to take it away while laughing. It probably would be best to place the strange octopus back where it belonged, but…

You crouched down beside the bucket and gazed inside. The creature's color was pale, and it was clearly trying to be curled into itself and small. You could still see some of the damage it had taken when the sea gulls attacked, and the water was a bit cloudier than it was before because of the blood. You knew you had to do something, otherwise it might not last the night. You lifted your head up and stared at your parent with big, almost begging eyes.

"I want to try saving it," you said in a soft voice. "Please? Can we try…?"

"Well…" You mother looked to your father.

He stared back at her, both of them almost looking to have a mental conversation. It was your father who broke, looking back to you with a bit of a stern expression.

"I want you to understand that we don't have all the equipment that we may need to help it," your father said. But his stern expression began to crumble. "But… I don't see why we can't try. However, that does not mean that we are keeping it. We are simply bringing it back to health, okay?"

Your face lit up, glad your parents were agreeing to keep the creature for a time being. "Really?! Awesome…!"

"It is a wild animal, so don't think you can stick your hand near it and play around," your mother quickly said as she pointed a finger at you. "It is not a dog. They can take your fingers off with one bite."

"You said that about the possum, and it didn't bite," You argued, hands wrapped around the bucket almost protectively.

"And that could've given you rabies!" Your mother exclaimed, causing your father to throw his head back and laugh.

"Listen to your mother, kiddo," Your father chuckled. He then pushed himself from his seat with a grunt, moving a bit slow as his feet dragged a bit. "I think I have a spare tank somewhere in the shed…"

"I'll get the decorations," Your mother said with a slight sigh.

"Hey! Do you think I can feed it?" You ask your mother, quickly following her as your dad was already a foot out the door.

"Not by hand," your mother said and gave you a look before turning to face a closet. "You'll use the feeding tongs like we do with the other fish, you understand? If I spot your hand in the water I'll be swatting it myself, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," You responded with a curt nod.

"Good. Now, let's look for some items for the octopus to hide in," your mother said. "They like to hide in things and create shelter, so we should give it a hiding place…"

"Ooh! Ooh! Can I bring stuff from the sea for it to use?!" You excitedly asked, feeling a light bulb go off in your head.

"Not tonight. It's gonna storm, remember?" Your mother said as she began to pull some fake rocks for the aquarium. "Also, we have to be careful with the levels in the water, otherwise we might hurt it instead. Maybe tomorrow when the storm settled you can run and maybe collect some rocks, okay?"

"Yes…!" You whispered, clutching your hands in fists in your rejoice.

Your mom chuckled to herself, finding your reaction humorous as she gathered things. You instead took it upon yourself to go get the feeding prongs. Some of the fish in your family's aquariums had fish that would eat live bait. Something to keep their minds entertained and keep their natural instincts. You took one of the live fish that was in a much smaller tank, one that was kept to the side to be feed.

You weren't afraid to touch the slimy and scaly creature. You were so used to being around fish and touching them that they didn't gross you out anymore. The fish wiggled in your hands, unable to escape, as you crouched down beside the bucket. Carefully you took the feeding tongs and pinched the tail fin of the live fish. You place it into the bucket and watched the creature inside flinch, startled by the thing intruding it's space.

It took it a moment to register that food was being offered to it. A curious tentacle reached up, seeming to try to grab it it and the prongs, but the live fish was stronger that you thought it'd be. You could tell the creature was having difficulty. You realized that it must be tired still.

Briefly you wondered what it had gone through to make it seem so tired. Maybe it had tried fighting the currents and lost? It wasn't uncommon of it to happen, but it was still rare. Maybe something chased it off? You had no clue. What you did know was that it seemed hungry, and the bait fish you offered was too strong for it.

You pulled the fish out of the water, being careful with it as you place it back into the tank it originally belonged in. Instead you went to the fridge and found a container of chopped fish. A different kind of feed for other fish you had. As you did so your father returned, grunting and cursing as he was trying to maneuver the tank by himself. You watched your mother chastise him for not asking for help as she set things down to lend him a hand. Knowing they could handle it better than you could, you focused on the creature in the bucket and brought the chopped fish container with you.

Listening to your mother, you used the feeding tongs and took a piece of fish from it. Carefully, you submerged it into the water and held it out in front of the creature. It flinched again, seeming wary. You reminded yourself to be patient, hoping it would take it. After a moment of the creature assessing the thing in front of it, it uncoiled a tentacle again, and curiously poked at it. It took it a while, you holding strong in your crouch as you watch it finally seemed interested in the food. You felt it tug on the prongs and you gently guided it down, realizing it was trying to pull it to it's mouth. Gently you released it from the prongs and watched it pull it underneath it, feeding on the fish.

Curiously you watched, attention solely on the creature as you could hear your parents trying to figure out the tank. The creature clearly ate, then almost gave a shiver. You wondered for a moment if it didn't like the food, only to watch it move away from the wall of the bucket finally. It's tentacles not so tightly wrapped beneath it, now seeming interested in what you could offer it.

You wouldn't help the joyous smile that stretched across your face, a small laugh leaving as you were glad it was still strong enough to eat. You offered it a brand new piece, watching at it almost seem to play with it before finally eating. It took three pieces from you before it finally seemed content, not interested in taking a fourth. As you stood up to put the chopped fish away, you could hear the faint drumming of rain beginning to hit the roof of the house, signaling that the storm was here.

Your family and yourself worked on the tank together, everyone chipping in where they could. You periodically would check on the octopus-like creature, making sure it was fine before resuming the tank. It took time, far more than any of you had anticipated, but the tank was set up and ready. However, you needed time for the water to adjust and stabilize before you could put anything in it. So, with how late it was, you all found yourselves sleeping out on the living room. Your mother and you took a couch all to yourselves, thin blankets wrapped around you, whilst your father took a recliner chair. You had brought the creature close, keeping it near the edge of the living room area so you could tend to it the moment you woke. As the night grew heavy, and the rain dribbled on, you all soundly fell asleep together.

He slept… while his wife was torn apart.

He slept… as the tentacles crawled up the bottom of the bed and slithered under the blankets.

He slept… when they hooked around her ankles and tightened like a snake with its prey.

He slept… through the thud of her body being dragged to the floor.

𐌀𐌋𐌄𐋄.

A voice whispered. The sound itself was an act of pleasure in his brain and he became hard as he lay - now alone - in bed. He dreamed of a passionate affair with a strange woman on a beach. They were already embraced. His hands cupping her face, her fingers trailing down his spine, their lips pressed together. He tasted saltwater. He slid his hands from her face over the rest of her body, her skin smooth and glossy to the touch. Her body, so alien and yet so familiar.  They kissed tenderly, not wanting to scare away the other. 

𝓐𝓵𝓮𝔁.

A different voice caught his attention. He pulled away and scanned the beach but there was no one there. Just sand and ocean for miles around. No people, no birds, just the two of them. Something itched in the back of his brain. A memory. A promise. A regret. But it was gone the moment she touched his face, drawing him back to her. She held him there, smiling seductively. He leaned his face against the palm of her hand kissing her wrist. Everything felt right. He hadn’t known how thirsty he was until now and how refreshing she was to him. 

She raised up on her tiptoes, her lips touched his ear and he shivered as her hard nipples grazed against him.

“Mine.” She breathed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down onto the sand. As they fell, red dragon-like wings sprang from her back. She cradled his head against her neck and closed her wings around their entwined bodies. Blocking out the sand... the ocean... and the sun above....

They made love… while his wife clawed at her feet and screamed in agony as her ankle snapped under the tentacle's compressing grip.

They made love… as she was slammed across the room into her dresser, shattering the mirror and knocking the air from her lungs. 

They made love… when she raged in fury, curling her hand around a broken shard of mirror and stabbing down into the tentacle with a satisfying wet squelch. 

They made love… through her final moments. A tentacle attached to each limb. His wife called out to her husband who was moaning and writhing in bed. Tears streamed down her face and as the they began to pull she choked on sobs at the realisation of what was to come. She fought back, she struggled but as the tension grew she knew it was too late and with her last breath she whispered her husband’s name. 

𝓐𝓵𝓮𝔁…

He slept… while his wife was torn apart... for if he was awake he would have gone mad.

He slept… as the tentacles crawled up the bottom of the bed and slithered under the blankets... for if he was awake he would know who- no - what they belonged to. 

He slept… when they hooked around her ankles and tightened like a snake with its prey... for if he was awake he would be powerless to stop it.

He slept… through the thud of her body being dragged to the floor... for if he was awake he would have been dragged with her.

based on this part in the cradles choreography