Hike | Remora | Oneshot

[saratonin]

REMORA FINK #tsunami 1043 words

It’s 8PM. Remora stands at the edge of the sea, worn shoes dangling in her hand. She shifts her weight to her toes, feels the rough sand rise up between them, grind against her calluses, and shifts back to those of her heels. Eyes downward, she watches the tide sweep under her feet, into the indents she made. Watches the water smooth them over, wash away her memory, wash away her sins. Blah blah blah, water makes you clean, and all that. She chortles. She presses her weight down, evenly distributing it this time, rooting herself. This time, with her whole foot pressed down, the water washes away the sand beneath them, sinks her deeper, strengthens her roots. The water does as she wills, as long as she does the same. Suddenly she feels a surge in her chest - a slowing of something, and then all at once, a wave of energy rushing over her. She steps forward, the tide rushing above her ankles, caressing her calves. She wears long jeans, but feels them get heavy with wetness, the water rushing up under them nonetheless. Something is happening. She doesn't know how, but she knows something is happening. Without warning she turns and walks up the beach, letting the dry sand cling to her feet. She lets it drink up their moisture as she walks home, watching the pavement for any broken bottles. The sun has set, the ground is cool, and meditatively she feels the sand and gravel under her. Eventually she stops watching the ground, instead trusting her memory and instincts. She reaches her fathers cottage, all white plastic siding, dirty. They spend little time here, and tend to be too exhausted from sea to keep it as well-maintained as her mother had liked. The front door is screen and glass bordered by white, unlocked. She swings it open. “Pop!” she sings. “Remy!” Her father is sitting in the living room, grog in his hand, his eyes fixed toward the fireplace, bereft of a fire for many years. Instead, wedding photos, a diploma, a ring, and other favourite trinkets of his late wife sit there, in a sort of shrine. Remora crosses the linoleum hallway to meet him, gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Call the captain, we’re going on a hike tomorrow.” This turns his head. “Since when do you miss a day at sea?” It’s the summer, for which Remora longs the rest of the year, resenting her mandatory schooling. The long days with the sun beating down, hard labour, sea chanties with the deckhands, who’ve become her makeshift, mismatched family. Tasting the sea water as it splashes onto the deck, the helmsman jolting the ship to the side. This is her home, much more than the white shack or green grass. The girl shrugs. “It’s only one day,” she reasons, “and besides, you haven’t taken a single day off this year.” The man takes a deep breath, feels the exhaustion in every muscle, turns his eyes back to the shrine. “A real hike?” “Maybe.” “If I’m taking a day off, it’s not to do a real hike.” She smiles. “Then we won’t. We could take the bus to the viewpoint. I’ll pack lunch, and we can just watch the water from somewhere quiet, for once.” He smiles back at her. “Alright. I’ll make the call.” Remora touches his shoulder in a sign of appreciation, and goes back outside to brush the remaining sand off her legs and feet. Returning to her room, she falls asleep quickly after the long work day, the salt of the sea still in her nose, a feeling of something bigger to come. The next day, she packs their lunches, and for reasons she does not yet understand, gently adds an assortment from the fireplace, and as much money as she could find around the house. On the bus, they feel a sort of quivering below them that lasts so long and is so overwhelming they almost forgot what it was like before. People whisper and worry, but ultimately nothing seems to come of the earthquake. By noon, the two have all but forgotten it, until they see the waves start to pick up. Eating their sandwiches, their chewing starts to slow as they see the water recede into itself. Remembering the feeling from the night before, Remora grabs her father’s arm, jumps to her feet. Before she knows what she’s doing, she’s at the edge of the viewpoint, grasping to the balcony, screaming at the top of her lungs to the people below. “Higher ground!” Her voice cracks. “Higher ground!” Her father drops both his jaw and his sandwich, and after a brief moment of mental processing, runs to join her. His voice is deeper, carries farther. Some people hear them down below. Half see their urgency, grab their loved ones and run, while the other half stare at each other confused. But it’s too late. The first wave comes suddenly, casts a shadow above the shoreline, crashes over a street. Remora and her father try to see if their cottage survived the crash, but another wave comes as quickly as the other and all they see is the waves, the water staining red with blood. In between the deafening crashes, they hear the screams. They stop their own screaming, grabbing to each other for comfort. There’s nothing they can do but stare. No way to help. Remora feels something in her chest, a sort of energy she’s never felt before. So much energy, so much weight, and at the same time, an ethereal lightness. She is both in her body and seeing her own wide eyes. She feels a sort of connectivity to the water that she’s never felt before. She feels both betrayed and her loyalty to it strengthened, a feeling that somehow, this is how things were meant to be, and there was never anything anyone could do to change it. The loss, the agony - for reasons she does not yet understand, they were necessary. While she can’t put words to it, she knows that the water has called this for some higher mission, has called her for some higher mission. And she is ultimately, unwaveringly loyal. eternity begins and ends with the ocean’s tides

Made by Sifr @ THQ.

Author's Note: If you read this, thanks for reading! Please leave any comments below, constructive criticism is much appreciated! This was meant to be a piece developing the character, figuring out how she and her father survived the tsunami, and setting the stage for her future (...as well as a warm-up to get me back into writing after several-year hiatus). I repeat please don't hold back any constructive criticism!