Water. Mankind’s most trusted resource. The structure of our planet and the survival of our bodies depend on it. In abundance or in absence, water dominates our lives. Though it contains traces of blood and betrayal from natural disasters entrenched in history, we trust it to behave as it has. That is, submissive. We rely on water to yield to our containers and displace when we plunge ourselves into it. Without strict adherence to these physical laws, all is lost. So what happens when water does not act according to our expectations? When a seemingly unaware substance proves to be quite the opposite? Well I shall tell you. I speak from a place unaffected by the elements. Roaming endlessly across a realm devoid of time and influence, I act as a galactic interpreter and universal recorder of all things bizarre. The recent events occurring upon Earth are worth noting as they signify a literal turning of tides. A crossroads at which we must decide the direction for future generations, if such a concept still exists. The possibilities of redemption and annihilation hang in air, but one is destined to drown. After all, 326 million trillion gallons will quench the mightiest of thirsts and squelch the most bloodcurdling of cries.
“LIEUTENANT!” screams a sopping grunt, Jack McGuillicutty. “THE SEA! SHE BE PISSED!”
Naval officers and assorted seamen scramble in a desperate attempt to secure the ship’s haul. The payload: 300 tons of uncooked pasta to be delivered to the southernmost point of Italy. Spaghetti, rigatoni, mostaccioli, orzo, penne and every other noodle you could shake your noodle at. With this delivery, America hopes to make amends for the Great Ragú Spill of 2016. Right now there is only one thing on the crew’s mind and it ain’t pasta. It is the grim face of death bearing down on them and their vessel.
“Keep firing dammit,” replies Lieutenant Teebo Sapp. “With enough lead, even water bleeds.”
“I’m not sure that it does, sir,” says some dingus lifting a big chain.
“LIKE SHIT IT DON’T!” shouts Sapp, realizing the improbability of victory against this overwhelming foe.
Men line the edge of the ship and expend rounds without pause. Their powerful bronzed arms flex against the recoil. The bullets have exactly the effect you think they would. None. Water rises to the deck of the ship and whisks lives away to their watery graves as if they were crumbs on a counter. The sea sinks back down like a viper retreating into its nest.
Sapp shields his eyes from an onslaught of salt water and steps over flailing men who slip and slide across the deck. He rushes to the nearest door and flings it open. Crewmen hurl themselves towards safety, but Sapp slams the door shut before a gargantuan wave can flood the control room. Sapp takes on the staircase five steps at a time and positions himself at the ship’s helm. He adjusts his groin and sniffs loudly. Terrified dudes with headsets look to him for answers.
“Sir?” asks a meek voice in the corner of the room.
“WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP! I’M TRYING TO THINK! IF WE ALL DIE, IT’S YOUR FAULT FOR DISTRACTING ME!” answers Sapp.
“I…I’m sorry,” squeaks the voice.
Sapp turns around with 20-20 fucking fury in his eyes. He gazes straight past the scrub’s eyes into his pathetic head-hole. His grizzled head of hair is dripping wet and stuffed beneath a crushed captain’s hat. The salt and pepper of his scruff could season even the blandest of dishes. Teebo crouches down, his muscular haunches ready to burst through his standard-issue trousers, and lowers his head within inches of the cowering man’s terror-drool coated lips.
“What’s your name, slime?” inquires Sapp.
“Benchyon, sir,” answers the man with strain in his voice as his shit begs to be shat. “Runjo Benchyon. I’ve served under your command for nearly seven years now.”
Sapp thinks to himself and recalls the many hardships and near-death experiences shared with this young lad. The time when Benchyon sacrificed his left pinky finger to prevent a length of steel fishing line from cutting Teebo’s dick clean off. The time when Teebo caught Benchyon doing that thing with the grilled cheese and never said a word. And the time they thought they saw a Beluga whale, but it was really just a weird log.
“Ah, of course. Benchyon,” says Teebo warmly. “Now I remember.”
Suddenly the sea settles. Ripples dissipate and the ship groans as nuts and bolts relax back into place. Depressurization is met with hesitation as all grows silent. The men look at each other suspiciously, afraid to exhale. Runjo’s shoulders slump and his eyes soften. They might just make it through this.
“Tell me, son. Where is your horizon?”
“Um, excuse me, sir?” asks Benchyon.
“If we survive this, what will it mean?”
Teebo stands up as if his taint were tickled by an inspiring speech.
“That goes for all of you,” Sapp continues.
He twists his leathery neck and sizes up his remaining crew.
“If there is one thing I’ve learned during my time on this damn rock we call Earth, it’s that if we’re just in this to survive, we’ve already lost. Living to bust another nut. Living to give another fuck. Living to die another day. I’ve seen many great men lay their lives on the line for causes with no becauses. No real rhyme or reason. Just fighting to fight to fight. But today? No. That simply will not do. Today, we will fight to win. To dominate. To stick our solid cocks in the sea’s liquid ass and show this planet once and for all that while humans might be fleshy sacks of organs and juices, we possess something more. More than courage and more than determination. We possess really fucking huge bombs! So what do you say? ARE YOU WITH ME?!”
The men hoot and holler and some even kiss on the lips, but the celebration is cut short when waves batter all sides of the ship simultaneously in a gut-wrenching display of limitless power. Once a mighty cruiser, the ship is now tossed from crest to crest as though flimsy and hollow. The tide is no longer flowing in one direction, but rather converging on one point. Their asses.
“GIVE ‘ER EVERYTHING WE GOT!” orders Sapp.
“What are the coordinates on that attack, sir?” asks some nerd.
“ANYWHERE YOU SEE WATER, FIRE!”
Burly biceps and various bulging backs kick into overdrive as shell after enormous shell is loaded, armed and fired in a deafening display of defense. The rounds pierce through the water’s surface like a fat piece of shit doing the most epic of cannonballs. Oh, and they launch some cannonballs too, but they do next to nothing. The wind howls intensely and carries a barely audible baritone chuckle. It is as if the wild blue yonder finds the insurmountable odds amusing.
Waves rise into gnarled points and flick frigid mist as Lucifer’s lapping tongue may. The boat teeters drastically; pointing nearly vertically at times, forcing the men aboard to stare directly into the black abyss rolling with veins of white foam. A destructive spray collides with the windows and a storm of shattered glass fills the control room. Lt. Sapp watches in horror as Bunchyon is torn to shreds by the flying debris. His blood lingers for only a moment on the floor before disappearing like piss on dirt.
The boat lurches violently and sends men tumbling downwards out the front of the ship. Lt. Sapp holds on for dear life as he dangles from pair of underwear caught on a bent nail. He looks down in horror at the unsurvivable plummet his men are taking into their chilly and silent graves. The underwear’s stitching begins to strain and snap, leaving only a thin elastic band to support Teebo’s immense body. Understanding that hope is lost, Sapp sheds a single salty tear. It careens off his cheek and is absorbed into his dark destiny waiting below. He lets go of the underwear and dangles by one arm. With the last of his strength, he pulls a pocket watch out of his pants and flips it open. Staring back at him is a picture of a butt.
“I’m coming home, Julio.”
He smooches the butt. One by one his fingers give out and Lieutenant Teebo Sapp tumbles end over end into the churning stew of sharks and bloated noodles. In the last moments before impact, he could have sworn he saw an ominous face appear in the water. Though stretched and distorted, he recognized the emotion it displayed as it was a familiar one. This water knew what it was doing.
This water was pissed.
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