Water

Water

He's home.

He stands in front of that little cottage on the beach fronted woods, listening to the waves crash against the rocks.

He walks.

He walks up the hill behind the house, slightly to the left. Theres a cliff there, his cliff. He goes there from time to time, to stare at the city miles away, on a different coast. As he walks, his hooves make soft sounds in the damp grass. Dew. Huh. Must be morning.

He loves his cliff. Loves imagining what wonders lie across the vast waters. He does not love water. He had never been able to understand swimming. He wasn't human, he likely couldn't even swim at all. He couldn't swim.

Sometimes he'd go to the gravely beach, make little towers of rocks and driftwood. He would wander into the water, but never too deep. He couldn't swim.

He reached the cliff top. He'd never strayed too close to the edge though, he knew the water was deep where the cliff ended. He didn't care for water. He couldn't swim.

He kept walking. He should stop now, the edge is close.

But he doesn't.

The soft thuds of his hooves feel loud in the cold, silent air.

And now the cliff is gone. He's falling. He likes falling, but this is wrong. He should be in control, but he's not. His wings should have caught him already. They've not, refusing to unfold from his back, as if restrained by cold, invisible hands, taunting him as he fell.

The boy hit the water, cold rushing all around him as the liquid abyss drags him deep below the surface. It burns, the heat of the monsters skin instantly boiling the water as it touches him, screams ripping from his unnatural throat. Fluid rushes into his lungs, searing the inside of his scarred flesh. He tastes his own blood, more rich than a humans. It would have been smooth, if the demonic side of him didn't taint it with darkness. Not that it matters now.

He sinks, deeper and deeper, pain and terror causing his body to lock up, as the morning sun above him seems to grow dark, flicker, and go out. The only sound he hears now is the sound of the water, almost tauntingly calm as it drags him deeper, limbs still as he sinks further into the water, feeling colder than ice as his bodies scorching innards cool. His eyes never close, all sight having already been boiled away, leaving half filled sockets. His lungs try to push the water from them, but it's no use.

Finally his wings extend, far too late to save him now, only slowing his decent into the cold, liquid madness that is the Sea and its torturous grasp.