Spoilers: This story is not for the faint of heart. It's just a short unedited one, but if you have thalassophobia I recommend you look away now. I will gladly accept any respectful critism. If you came here for the art, look no further than above this paragraph.

The wind carried over the ocean, rocking the boats at sea. There were thousands on those boats, hanging on to their belongings. Those belongings were gifts to from grandparents, parents, siblings, and children; memories of their childhood. And they were all there, on the island which they left. Their families were safe. 

But those thousands and their many things were going elsewhere. Many lives clung to the sides of those boats as they tilted and swayed with the steady waves, with no explicit destination. Most would never return. Some would never get to feel peace again, and if they did it would be no more than a trick calling them to even farther depths. Depths of such cruel, twisted fate they could never imagine. 

As the calm washes over them, something is... wrong. There are no playful children, there are no rough housing siblings or rowdy adolescents or chatty conversations- not even a seagull dare squawk nor a whale call to its pod. Just silence and the whispers of the uneasy sea.

The waves grow in volume and the boats shudder. Water beneath them darkens into midnight without transition. Although the captains of those boats turn away, they do not turn fast enough. Through the earsplitting cries of panic, the wood is mangled and splintered. A giant beak reveals itself, snapping at the victims who fall away from the edge unable to be saved. Any who tried only added to the massacre. 

Writhing tentacles covered in millions of barbs strike through the others, leaving not even a lifeboat untainted. Only shards remain scattered across the surface, helpless little survivors and their memorabilia left amongst them. The rest were drowned, but their souls could not leave them. These husks were at the brink of death, but it would never come. 

All they could see was the darkness, and no matter how alone they were it got lonelier every passing moment. The abyss became their watery prison as these bottom dwellers began to morph into horrors. Jagged teeth where there should have been eyes, shredded organs leaking out of gaping stomachs. Sickly dry skin, like a drought in the rainforest- and quills by the millions, painfully sprouted each time they thought about freedom.

Even as they lived these agonizing days, months, years, decades- they never stopped waiting for their opportunity. Perhaps, if they could beg to the guilty, to the selfish, and promise them relief or wealth in exchange for their souls they could fill the empty cavities inside their chests. 

And just maybe, if the way back was clear they could finally return to their island. They could finally return home, to their children, to their siblings, to their parents, and to their grandparents. Maybe their gifts could finally be delivered, and cherished hugs farewell could finally be returned.

Alas... this couldn't be. This wouldn't be. This shouldn't be. The island was no longer their home. Their families had forgotten. The gifts were destroyed beyond charitable. It was no longer a home, it was a drowned house. A den of false hope to immortality, growing more agonizing by the second. The abyss, the soulless place the ambitious travelers and their leaders were dragged to oh so long ago had become the unthinkable, the unfamiliar- home.

Minor random side note: Would any of you be interested if I wrote a poetry book? I haven't gotten very far with my story yet but I've been writing poems nearly daily now, so it would be frequently updated without clogging my art book.