Sandy Beaches

	The thundering roar of thunder shook the poor frightened boy awake. Lightning flashed from the small circular port window, illuminating the small room the young adult slept in. Rain tapped on the glass, begging to be invited inside, dripping down the small window and joining the vast sea that was beneath the boy’s room. The young man held his chest; his heart was racing, pounding against his ribs as if trying to be released from the calcium prison. He sat upwards, the worn blanket he’s had since he was younger falling off of his shoulders and down onto his lap. His white shirt seemed to glow in the faint light coming from outside, almost giving the small dark room some light. His eyes were barely open, scanning the room in a blurry haze of sleep deprivation. A silent yawn escaped his mouth, his hand instinctively covering his mouth out of common courtesy, even though no one else was in the room.

	The poor child didn’t want to wake up, that was for sure. He was 21, and considering his line of work, sleep was a godsend. But the rain from outside, the storm that was rocking the ship over rough waters; sleep was impossible. Another flash of lightning parted the dark skies outside, flashing the room in a bright white light. The roaring thunder came not too far behind of its flashy cousin, shaking the ship itself. He expected the window to shatter, to bath him in glass as it gave away to the thunderous roar from outside, but the rain stayed on the other side of the glass. He sighed to himself, his voice course. His right hand rubbed his neck in sorrow, his tired expression turning into a soft frown. Every time he would make a peep, his body would passively do that to remind him of his condition, as if to smite the poor child ever since he was born.

	He couldn’t speak.

	He slapped both of his cheeks with his hands, which did the opposite of what he wanted. The stinging heat of hands slapping against his skin made him more alert, even though he just wanted to go back to sleep. He yawned once again, rubbing his eyes to get used to the dark environment that surrounded him. The soft blanket which hugged his lower form was brushed to the side. He was still wearing his jeans; his messy, torn, and oil covered jeans. Another sigh. He couldn’t throw them in the wash when the Kikimora’s were doing the laundry for everyone else; they would get everything dirty. And putting them in the workers was suicide since all they did was spread the dirty and grime. He never liked his working conditions. From the no heating, to the messy work, to even the workers themselves who were toxic. His torn socks pressed against the cold wooden floor, his legs hanging off the edge of his small single bed. He hung forward, his brown hair hanging over his forehead and covering his brown eyes. The only benefit from his job was how it made him toned and the sights.

	The sights. He glanced to his left. A small table sat next to his bed, two draws and a third larger one which was shrouded in the night’s darkness. A small lamp stood atop the side table, its lampshade looking in better condition that his jean overalls. Even though he lived in a small room, he always tried to keep it as clean as he could. Temptation to turn on the lamp was strong, but his eyes would burn out of his sockets if they were to be exposed to light at such a vulnerable state. A small novel was next to the old fashion lamp, its title unreadable. A piece of paper was used as a bookmark, sitting snuggly in between the middle of the book. But what he was looking at was the small framed picture that stood next to the book. His rugged left hand took a hold of the picture, bringing it near him. A soft smile crept onto his face. He remembered when this photo was taken; when he was much younger, on Christmas Eve with his family. His father, a man who looked younger than he actually was, kissing his wife, the boy’s mother who was also a Lich, under Mistletoe. An older looking man smiled at the camera, his grandfather, and a young boy sat on his shoulders, holding the mistletoe on a stick. He was the boy. The young man still remembered what he got for Christmas that day. The same blanket he was sleeping with.

	The ship shook, a groan of metal straining to keep together vibrating in the air. His grip on the picture tightened as the boat vibrated, desperately trying not to drop the family photo. His other hand gripped the edge of his mattress, trying to keep himself stable. His brown eyes shot to the faint light that was peeking under the door to his room. A flurry of shadows passed, the stomps of boots and other steps slinking their way into his room. He didn’t know what that was, but it didn’t sound like it was anything good. He was on his feet even before he heard another groan. He was beginning to lose his footing; the ship was rocking move violently now. The lamp on his table rolled off, smashing the bulb all over the floor. But he ignored it, instead trying to push his feet into his worn shoes. The ship shook again, causing him to fall backwards, landing on his back atop the wooden and metal floors. The coat hanger next to the door fell on top of him, draping him with his coat. He growled, an irritated sound escaping his mouth.

	Another groan caused the young man to ignore the scorching pain in his back and push off his warm coat. He pulled himself up, trying to keep himself stabilized as best as he could.  The sound of the ship straining was replaced with a loud and annoying horn. The light from the hallway on the other side of his door was much fainter now. It was on emergency power. He ignored the scream and yells, instead opening the frame that held his family picture from the back. He took out the black and white photo and stuffed it in his overall jeans. He didn’t care that only one suspender was latched to his shoulder, whatever was going on outside sounded more important that presentation. The ship suddenly shook violently, almost making him lose his footing. Was that a bomb?

	He didn’t care about his jacket anymore; his dirty white shirt would have to do. There was bombs going off, not what he originally thought which an Iceberg was being hit like he was on the Titanic, or lightning hitting the ship. He quickly opened the small cabinet table that was next to his bed in a rush. A small dark metallic revolver sat in a pillow of written letters he’s wrote to his parents ever since he got the job to work where we was now. It was his grandfather who gave him the weapon, saying it was passed down for a very long time. He’s never used it, considering he never liked killing, but considering it was an heirloom, he had an obligation to carry it with. The ship shook again, this time the sound of the bomb going off as loud as a car horn two blocks away. He stuffed the metal weapon into his pocket and ran towards the door, holding his hands out to his sides in case his lost balance under the violent shaking. He gripped the handle of the door and pulled.

	It was pandemonium in the small narrow hallways of the cruise ship. Workers from every race of Mamono to human were running around in a panic, helping others or helping themselves. Kikimora were being pushed around, ignored like they always were. People were being trampled, stepped over or stepped on like they weren’t even there. Folks who didn’t care for others pushed and shoved them out of their way, rushing to the stairs to the top deck and to the life boats. The white walls which had crown molding were being scratched and covered in dirt from either men who were just coming from the engine room or people shoving others into them. Some were even denting the nice astatically pleasing walls. The ship shook again, this time knocking out the power for a brief moment. A young Kikimora fell forward into his arms, losing her balance. He held onto her in a tight grip, mostly trying not to fall back onto his already sore back. He looked down at the young woman, who was looking away, a noticeable tinge or red on the bridge of her nose and on her cheeks.

	“T-Thank you.” She barely managed. The man nodded, but didn’t let go. The ship shook one again, this time causing the duo to slide to the left, their shoulders bumping against his room’s wall. The ship was sinking, and it seemed to be happening from the left side of the ship, meaning that the bombs were going off at the bow, near the hull. He could feel the ship begin to pivot to the left. The Kikimora was crying on his chest. She was afraid. So was he.

	He took her hand, causing her to stop crying. She looked up at him, tears rolling down her cheeks from her damp eyes. She had adorable looking twin tails which surprisingly held together even though there was a disaster going on. Her maid outfit was ripped and torn, covered in spilled food and coffee. She must’ve been serving someone when the bombs went off. He wished they would’ve met under different circumstances. He gave her an apathetic look, one in which his father would give him when he would cry to make him stop. Which worked. He nodded to her, and ran out of the room, holding onto her hand and dragging her along. He held onto her soft hands with a tight grip, determined to not let go. It was suicide to walk down the left hallway if the water was beginning to flood in through the front. He made a right, pushing past people who were oblivious to the fact that the ground they were walking on was leaning to the left and not the right. His heavy worker boots stomped on the ground with a loud thunk, followed by the Kikimora’s quiet yet graceful steps. He was going to save her. He was going to save someone.

	The ship was really sinking fast now. He grabbed the molding that was on the wall, trying to not to fall. The ship was at 140 degrees; he could feel the right side being lifted out of the water as the left began to sink. The halls were much clearer, probably because most were topside at this point, but that didn’t mean it was easier to walk up the steep incline. And it was increasing in height. The heavy breaths of the Kikimora were ragged behind him. But she continued to follow. But even though he was determined to save her, they were too low below the ship. The workers lived near the bottom of the ship, which were five floors under the top of the passenger ship. The speed in which the ship was beginning to tip, plus the fact that they would have to travel up five sets of stairs meant that either they would make it, or the ship would split in half.

	The loud groan and sound of things tearing didn’t help at all even though they finally found the stairs. The man looked down the hall they came from, watching the rushing water that was beginning to flood in through rooms and peoples windows. He slipped and fell onto his chest, gripping onto the entranceway to the stairs. The ship was now getting close to 120 degrees, and gravity was beginning to take effect. He held onto the Kikimora’s hand for dear life, trying not to let go. She looked up at him, tears rolling down her cheeks.  He could hear the ship beginning to tear in half. This isn’t how he wanted things to end. His grip began to falter, death pulling the scared Kikimora down to the sea. The ship thrashed around and broke in half. The violent thrash made the man accidentally let go as the right side began to fall back down to the ocean. The fall launched him upwards, slamming his back into the ceiling. It splashed onto the sea, slamming him back onto the floor. Water rushed to claim the dazed man, who held a dark black cloth in his hand where the Kikimora once was.

	He didn’t care about the cool pacific water washing over him; he didn’t care as the ship sank. He knew he was going to die, but he wanted to at least save someone, like his grandfather did when he was in the police force. And yet he couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t save another’s life, instead bringing it down with him. That’s all he was good for in the end. The only thing he was good at was drowning. The cool salt water embraced him, pulling him down into the ocean with the ship. And yet, even as he was pulled down, a voice whispered to him. He wasn’t familiar with it, nor had he even heard of it before, but it was there regardless. In the darkness there was light, a light in which seemed warm, as if to beckon him towards it like a lure. He couldn’t see anything but the light in the darkness, and he couldn’t move, as if his body was restricted, as if limp. But from the light was the voice, a mysterious yet motherly voice. He could feel something embrace him, like a hug from a mother with many arms. Was this death? Was he being pulled to heaven? Was this the afterlife?

	No, said life, for it seemed fate had other plans. The light dimmed into darkness, as if he was being pulled away by some unforeseen force in which didn’t want him to be lured by the circle of life just yet. The deafening silence was now filled with the sound of a beach, the ocean brushing against sand and being pulled back in an endless loop of motion. Birds could be heard flying overhead, their loud and extremely annoying caws sounding exotic, not like the city birds he’s grown accustomed to. Felling was being restored after his hearing. He felt sand pressed against his cheek. According to his senses, he was lying on his stomach, his head resting on its right side. He could also feel the ocean rubbing against his wet and soggy boots. He also felt something else touching his right leg, something slimy.

	Scent was restored without warning, like a brick being tossed at his face. Salt assaulted his nose as if it was trying to kill him. Which, considering the fact that his lungs were partly filled with water, it was really trying. He coughed, the salty water spitting out of his mouth. He coughed again, this time much more violently and was followed by another. He felt whatever the slimy thing was seem to slither away. His body was on auto pilot at this point, his arms lifting his head and chest off the ground as he coughed out more water. He could hear the water splatter against the damp sand, he could smell the salty water mixed with bile, he could even feel some of the water splash onto his arms. After his final cough, his body making sure everything was out of his lungs and his stomach and ignoring the fact that he felt slightly ill, he opened his eyes.

	Another brick was tossed at his face. The light assaulted his eyes as if the goddess of the sun herself had a personal vendetta for him. Even though he wasn’t looking overhead, the bright light shone down onto his back. The sand beneath him was damp, a puddle of water directly below him. He slowly spun onto his back, leaning onto one arm as he held a hand over his eyes to block the sun. He was met with the vase blue sea which tried to drown him without even any remorse. Waved were blown by the cool wind which brushed his face, the smell of salt being carried away. He blinked. It just occurred to him as he sat upwards, crossing his legs and looking at his hands. Was he alive? Was this purgatory?

	He paused right when he was about to confirm it. There was a black cloth wrapped around his hand. He recognized it. It was the same fabric the Kikimora maid wore, the one he got killed. His hand slowly clenched into a fist. He knew why he was alive. It was life’s way to screw with him; kill the one you wanted to save, and save the one who was willing to die for the safety of another. He gazed back at the blue waters. If anyone survived that sabotaged ship, they were probably long gone by now. But the question was; if he survived, where was he? He passively wiped away any bile from his mouth, scanning the ocean for any sign of life, any sign of the ship or anything at all. But there was absolutely nothing at all. Nothing but salt water and the sand. The man sighed and shook his head, spraying water in all directions out of his hair.

	A soft grunt and his boots were off. The seas water poured out of the worn shoe like a waterfall. His socks were soaked, and his clothes were wet. He coughed, more of the body trying to remove any leftover salt water than a sick cough. He placed his shoe next to him and took off the other, draining it the same way. He placed the other next to its pair and took off his socks. Keeping them on gave him a higher chance of catching a cold. He sighed to himself, gazing up at the bright blue sky. His jean overalls were covered in seaweed and sand. He tossed his socks to the side, right onto his damp shoes. He didn’t know where he was, and since it wasn’t night, he didn’t know if he was facing north or south. He gazed up at the sun, trying not to look at it directly. Judging by the placement, it was noon. If the ship sank close to 1 in the morning, he’s been out for a couple hours.

	He paused. He was taught this when he was younger, right out of preschool into middle school by his father and his grandfather. He reached for his pocket and grabbed the picture that was apparently dry for some very strange reason. He looked at the photo, amazed that it was fine and happy that it was, well, dry. As long as it was fine, he was happy. Though, the slime that dripped from the bottom corner made him look at the photo more thoroughly. Last of what he remembered, he didn’t carry slime in his pockets. His thoughts were interrupted by the faint rustling of bushes. He froze in his spot, his head turning on its own towards the sound. He didn’t even realize the massive jungle that was behind him, trees standing tall, vines draped over branches and a very warm air blowing out through the shrubbery.  The foreboding and dread that seemed to radiate off of it made the young man not even want to tread into its depths. He didn’t want to go in there. He didn’t want to go in there at all.

	And yet, where could he go? He looked to his right and then to his left. Other from what seemed to be endless sand, there was nowhere else to go but into the fear infested jungle. He felt a beckon, as if the jungle was inviting it into its vines, whispering that there was nothing to fear, nothing to lose. And yet, the boy sat there, staring back at the jungle without even thinking of moving a muscle. He could feel the eyes of creatures, of animals watching him through the think shrubbery and from the trees. His brain already came to the conclusion that entering the forest was a good as not happening once his eyes locked onto what seemed to be some sort of tribal warning; A large wooden stick which stood upwards. Two skulls which seemed to look almost humanoid were impaled on the wooden stick, topping it off with a goat skull.

	He was definitely not going in there.

	But he would have to if it meant survival. He could live near the beach, but he would have to go into there for supplies. Driftwood was too wet and soggy to even make a passable little tent to live in, and if he made a fire he would be creating a beacon for everyone in the jungle towards him. Plus, with him being out in the open, whatever tribe that was probably watching him could attack overnight, meaning that sleep was non-existent. And considering his inventory consisted of a pocket knife, a revolver, and the clothes on his back, he was unprepared. But he had to. If he was to make a shelter, he’d have to go inside. If he was to hunt, he would have to go inside. If he was to avoid the rainclouds that were beginning to form overhead, he would have to go inside. His body strained, protesting, begging to not go into the forest. But he sighed. He took his soggy socks, squeezing them out of any more water, and pulled them back on. He was already wet and somewhat cold, the rain was going to make things worse. With both of his shoes finally back on, he was up. A gulp came from his neck, fear gripping his heart, sweat and water dripping down his face. He took a step forward.

	And immediately stopped.

	Something was pulling on his shirt. He looked down just to almost back away in fear. A large pale pink and off white crab stood next to him, going up to his hip. Its large blue eyes were the size of his hands, and its claws looked like massive cleavers as long as his forearms. The large crab looked at the frightened man, its blue eyes scanning his damp form. Its mouth seemed to be creating bubbles, bubbles in which floated away in the faint wind. The man took a step back, but the crabs grip never phased. Was it going to attack him? Was it going to chop him into bits? All of his questions were quickly answered once the crab did what he didn’t even think it would do; absolutely nothing.

	He crouched down, causing the crab to flinch. It looked at him, its expression unreadable. His father always told him that animals were more afraid of you then you were of it. He slowly raised a hand, causing the crab to raise its other pincer in defence. It was definitely more afraid of him that he was. He gave the large creature a warm smile, and patted it on the head. It went rigid, slowly letting go of his shirt as he petted its carapace. It was hard, but not solid. More bubbles seemed to rise out of its mouth. He must’ve made it happy. Most animals loved head pats. It opened and closed its pincers in harmony, creating a somewhat chattering sound. He smiled, but stopped, getting back onto his feet. It looked like it was about to rain, and he really needed a place to stay. He gave the crab a departing smile, and took a step towards the jungle.

	He stopped once again. The grab was gripping to his shirt again, looking at him with unreadable eyes. He looked at the crab, and took a step forward. But it didn’t move, instead trying to pull him away from the jungle. He turned to face the crab. Was it trying to warn him, trying to divert him away from entering the dreaded jungle? The scribbling of crustacean claw on sand made him crouch down to eye level. It was writing something in the sand. He watched as its pincer traced out letters, a bit crude, but it must be hard for a creature. But he was amazed that it could even write, let alone understand words.  It finally stopped, pointing at its two words with enough sternness in its actions that it delivered the message clearly.

	JUNGLE BAD.

	The man looked up at the large crab, who was snapping its pincers together. So his feeling was correct; the jungle was bad. He was about to write something, but froze. A drop of rain fell overhead, landing on his head. Another quickly followed, trailed behind by multiple. He sighed to himself. It began to rain. His damp close soon began to get drenched once again, his hair drooping over his face, covering his annoyed eyes. The large crab was oblivious to the rain, instead looking intently at the young man, who took a seat on the damp sandy beach. He didn’t care that the rain was beginning to slam down on his shoulders like rocks, or that his clothes were beginning to get to a whole new level of wet, he was giving up. There was nowhere else he could go. He fell onto his back, allowing the rain to attack his face with its onslaught. He was done.

	His face flinched. It suddenly stopped raining on his face. He opened his eyes to see a pale pink pincer hovering over his face, blocking the heavy rain that knocked on its carapace.  The large crab looked down at him, its blue eyes still unreadable. He chuckled, which came out as nothing, not even a peep. The crab tilted its eyes, confused at his reaction. It moved its large claw as he got up. He didn’t know if the crab was torturing him for his crimes, as if he was in purgatory, or if it was actually being nice. But it was smart, for a crustacean. The large crab pointed in a direction, moving along to where it pointed on the sand. Was it trying to bring him somewhere? It stopped, looking at him. He shrugged, and got to his feet. The crab continued on, followed by its companion that had just about given up. It began to pick up its pace, noticing that he was getting thoroughly drenched.

	The two were practically running in the rain, one leading the other. The soft squish of his boots hitting the mushy sand below was drowned out by the never ending rain. He was going to catch a cold, that was a guarantee, but at least the rain cleaned him of the salt water. The large crab he was jogging behind periodically glanced at him, as if to make sure he was following it. His steps began to slow as he realized where the crab was leading him. There was a cave in the distance, right near the shore. He was actually going to be saved.

	The cave wasn’t that large, adding to the fact that it was well hidden. Stalactites and stalagmites hung overhead and on the dry stony floor. His soaked shoes squished onto the ground, echoing in the small cave. It was roomy, and it even had what looked like a fire pit that needed to be lit. A stack of dried wood was in the corner. He shook his hair, causing the large crab next to him to flinch. He was cold, wet, and slightly hungry. He didn’t even realize the crab left as he approached the fire pit. There was charcoal in the bottom. He instinctively patted his damp overalls, looking to see if he brought what would probably be a lifesaver if he did. His father would kill him otherwise. He frowned once he found it; a soggy box if matches. The lighting mechanism on the box was pretty much gone, but he was lucky the matches were ok. He placed the soggy box on the ground and reached for his gun. He had to do it right and do it carefully. He learned this from his grandfather and his father on survival skills. You take a bullet from your gun and smash it open like how he did with a rock. He dusted the gunpowder on the charcoal, near some dried leaves that were also there. His nose began to run; his body was beginning to get sick. With a flick of the match, it was set ablaze. He tossed it onto the gunpowder, which erupted into flames, which quickly caught onto the dried leaves and charcoal.

	Smoke and warmth bathed the cavern, giving the man a content smile. He brushed his overalls off his shoulders and took off his damp shirt. But he paused. He just realized that the crab, his friend, was gone. He wanted to call for it, but stopped himself. Like he could call for anything. He sighed and took off his soaked shirt. A quick squeeze and it was back to being damp. Once his shoes, socks, and pants were off, he took a seat near the fire. He held his hands near the warm blaze, watching it spark and dance as if it was putting on a show. He was too distracted by the blaze to hear the large crab enter the cave. He looked up and gasped. The large crab was carrying a basket of fish, the woven basket made of vines, on its back. It looked at the young man who was in nothing but his boxers. It seemed frozen as it stared at him, its blue eyes seemingly trailing down to his boxers than actually giving him eye contact. The young man watched as it dropped the bag of fish next to the fire and scratched something on the ground.

	FISH!

	The man giggled at its ecstatic attitude, its pincers chattering together as it danced, as if celebrating its successful hunt. He clapped along with the dancing crab, creating a rhythm for the joyful creature. He was as happy as it was; he finally had shelter, food, water, and a companion so he wouldn’t be as lonely. His smile began to waver. But for how long would he be here? How long would he be away from his family? All his friends who were on the ship were probably dead or lost at sea, and his mother and father were back in the city, probably oblivious to his ship wreck. He flinched at the sudden fish that was in his face, impaled onto a stick. The crab watched as he scrapped the fish with his pocket knife, removing the scales. He watched it eat the slimy meat raw without even an issue. He cooked the fish over the fire, glancing at the large crab that was watching him. Curiously, it did the exact same thing he did. He smiled.

	A bright flash of lightning from outside caused the crab to drop the fish in fear, engulfing it in flames. It was shaking, its legs wobbling, its claws covering its eyes as the thunder rolled in. With a sigh, the man gave the frightened crab his cooked fish. It peaked through its pincers, looking at the man who was giving it a warm smile. It took the fish and began to eat it in content. He patted it on its head, calming it down more as to not get it scared again by the weather. He understood why it didn’t like thunderstorms; he didn’t either. Another cooked fish on a stick and he began to eat. His stomach was sated, and the crab seemed to have drifted off to sleep. He grabbed what seemed to be a draped cloth that hung overhead in the cave, using it as a blanket and his cloths as a pillow. Although he was tired, he couldn’t sleep.  He didn’t know what to do. He was stranded on an island he didn’t even know the full size of; with a large crab that pretty much became his only friend. If he were to tell anyone this, they would think he was crazy.

	And yet he wasn’t after confirming what seemed to be almost a month on the island. The duo lived together, surviving off of the land and eating mostly seafood. He was right in what he said; the crab was his best friend. They hunted together, explored together, and slept together, non-sexually of course. It told him, though obviously tracing words in the sand, stone, and even the walls, the many different dangers of the island. Apparently it was massive, and was mostly consisted of the dense jungle it warned him about. But they apparently it said that there was also a desert somewhere. He wanted to explore the island, but the crab was very strict on exploration. He didn’t blame her, as he began to call it; she seemed to worry about his safety like a mother. He smiled to himself, scratching his short beard in which was beginning to grow on him.

	The large bag of fish and other seafood he carried over his shoulder left a trail of water as he walked back to his ‘home’, he began to call it. His white shirt was much more torn that it was before, and his pants were beginning to look even more worn. His overalls hung from his hips, slapping against his legs as he hauled the large load of seafood. According to his crabby friend, there was a storm brewing, and she stayed back to prepare their cave shack for the worse. He had to stalk up on food in case anything went sour. He wanted to go into the jungle, just once, to see if there might be any other animals other from seafood he could hunt for. But with the foreboding feeling, the dread that seemed to leak out of the dense jungle, and the warnings from his friend, he always had second thoughts. That and he didn’t want to put her through the amount of worry and fear she would have if he went inside and never came back. He chuckled. He was beginning to address her like a mother more than a friend.

	A grunt escaped his lips. The fish tails were beginning to dig into his back, as if they were trying to kill him since he impaled them with a wooden spear. He enjoyed fish hunting. It was relaxing, the fish were small enough that they didn’t try and kill him, and watching his crab friend hunt was a spectacle in its own. He shook his head, his long brown hair brushing against his face. He was starting to see the large crab as something else. They were friends, companions, man and dog- or crab in this case. Was he falling in love with an animal? Has the island messed with his mind in some sort of strange and unusual way that now he was having strange feelings for an enlarged creature that saved his life and has been living with for about a month? Was this insanity? Was he actually in Hell? A loud caw shot him out of the depths of his thoughts. He gazed up at the cloudy blue sky to see what looked like a bird fly by. He squinted his brown eyes, casting a shadow over his face with his hand. Was it a bird? It looked too big for a bird, but then again, he was friends with a giant crab. For all he knew, everything could be large on this island that he hasn’t explored. It dropped something. He squinted his eyes more. It seemed that the bird hasn’t noti- and now it did. It’s falling too fast, the bird won’t catch it.

	An egg. It dropped an egg. The bag of slimy fish and other food from the sea hit the sandy floor with a thud. He had to catch it. The large bird, which was free falling at this point for the meteorite that was the Ostrich sized egg, was never going to make it. By how high and how fast it was falling, it didn’t matter how soft the sand was below, it was going to shatter on contact. He ran towards where the egg was going to fall, moving left and right to get under it. He had to catch it. As much as having an egg to eat would sound, seeing whatever large bird that was trying to catch its young look devastated that it managed to kill it would break his heart. This was his redemption; his was of saving a life and not killing them. The torn cloth from the Kikimora was wrapped around his wrist this time, a memory of the past, of how he got here in the first place. Of his failure. But life gave him a second chance, and now here it was. His shirt was off as it began to near him, and he caught it. The large egg fell right into his soft shirt he cuffed. He held it with the upmost care, checking to see if it had any cracks. But there was none. He saved it, he saved a life.

	He was too busy being filled with satisfaction to see the large bird collide into him head-on. Her head slammed into his chest, the pain washing over him like the ocean he came from. He clutched the egg, desperately trying not to drop it as the two fell to the sandy ground. His head was swimming, his chest felt like he was just hit by a truck carrying feathers. A groan escaped his mouth. He was in pain. His back hurts, his head hurts, his chest hurts, and by the sharp feeling of talons rubbing against his legs, they were about to hurt. And yet, he slowly opened his eyes, which blinked wide. There, straddling him, her talons rubbing the sides of his legs, a feathery wing resting on his chest holding her up while the other rubbed her head in pain, was a half-naked Harpy. Her grey and white feathers littered the sand around him, sticking to his hair and his skin. Torn cloth covered her small breasts, but left her erotic looking midriff out in the open. She rubbed her head in pain, her messy light brown hair drooping over her closed eyes. Her face looked so soft and young, like she was just a minor. One of her eyes opened, causing him to gulp. Her fatigue looking golden eyes looked at him, right into his eyes. They blinked in unison with him.

	She tilted her head in confusion.

	He didn’t know what to do in this situation. He was being straddled by a Harpy that looked like a minor, and seemed oblivious by the situation. Who would’ve thought things would’ve escalated from him just going fishing to saving a falling egg and now this. His cheeks were heating up, he could feel the blood turning them a rosy tint. His mind was fighting off the fact that her barely covered snatch felt warm against his abdomen, barely above his member. The only think he could do other from being pulled in by the innocent looking Harpy’s adorable eyes was to look away. He glanced upwards, at the egg that he held in his hands, snugged deeply into his worn and dirty shit. The Harpy followed his gaze, which was exactly what he was hoping for the curious child to do. Its innocent face turned into that of joy. It was beginning to hop up and down on him, which made him cringe in the fact that it felt so good and the fact that it was also very painful.

	“Eggy! Eggy!” His eyebrow rose. She could talk. It wasn’t unheard of for a Mamono to speak, but considering she seemed to be a native of the island, it was surprising she spoke English no less.

	Her eyes looked down at the cringing man. Her soft cheeks turned a faint pink. As if logic dawned on her, she finally got off. The slick wetness that was on his abdomen from where she was sitting didn’t let his mind go in peace. But he digressed, after a quick conflict with his mind and his lower region. He sat upwards, cradling the egg in his arms like a child, which technically it was. Judging by how tall it was on its feet, coming to about eye level while he was sitting, she was really small. Obviously she was bigger than a normal bird, but small for a Harpy. She was definitely a minor. He smiled and gave the egg to the small Harpy, who somehow held it within her wings without dropping it. He patted her head, which got an adorable giggle from her. But he didn’t have time to play with the cute Harpy, he had to go back home. And judging by the look of the sky, so would she. With a sigh, he was back on his feet, pushing his arms into his shirt and putting them back on. He gave the young Harpy one last pat on the head, before giving her a departing smile. He walked towards the large basket of fish and hauled it over his shoulder.

	The Harpy was following him.

	He looked at the curious Harpy, who tilted her head in confusion when he stopped to look at her. She held the small egg in her wings, close to her chest. He gave her a soft smile and continued on. Just to stop once again. He looked behind him to see that she was still right next to him. The Harpy gave him an innocent face. Was she doing it on purpose? He shook his head at her, as if to tell her not to follow. She stood where she was, watching the man, blinking periodically. With a wave, he departed, just to stop again at the sound of her small talon feet hopping on the sandy beach behind him. She was still following him like a lost puppy, or bird in this case. Maybe it was hungry and wanted some fish? No. If he were to feed her, then she would never leave him alone. He sighed and dropped the bag of fish, crouching onto one knee. The bird hopped closer to him, looking at him with curiosity gleaming on her eyes. He stuck a finger in the sand and began to write.

	NO FOLLOW.

	The young Harpy looked at the words, studying it like she was studying the inner workings of a vehicle. She looked up at the man, who shook his head. She looked back down at the two words, who he pointed at. The Harpy stuck a talon into the sand and began to write. Did she understand him? Was she writing a message to him? He watched her black talon trace and curve, twist and turn, carving into the sandy beach. Whatever she was doing, it seemed very crude. And yet, the absolute concentration on her face made it look like she really wanted whatever message she was drawing into the ground to come across as understandable. She finally stopped once she was done, a smile of content on her face. He looked at the words, no, the picture in which she crudely drew into the sand. It was a picture of him and her walking along the beach, carrying a bag of fish, a sun in the sky, and tiny hearts. It was something straight out of what you would get from your child when they come back from school to show you what they made. It was definitely not going to leave him alone.

	He sighed to himself and petted the Harpy on her head. He got to his feet and hauled the bag of fish over his shoulder. The Harpy giggled as some of the sea water got onto her. He smiled. Hopefully his companion is OK with having a roommate. With a grunt, he was off, walking into the direction of his humble abode, followed closely behind by the cute little Harpy and her egg. He wondered where her parents were, if she had any. But, judging by the small growl of someone’s stomach he heard from behind him, that would have to wait. He felt something brush his left hand. The Harpy picked up its pace to walk next to him, and was holding his hand with one of her wings. She looked up at him with a cute smile, causing his cheeks to blush. She giggled.

	“Papa pink! Papa pink!”

	The faint blush on his face never left his cheeks once they finally reached the cave. Which, lucky enough, was right before it began to rain. The duo stood at the mouth, a mixture of shock and surprise. His crab friend was nowhere to be seen, except for the orange and yellow fire that was blazing in the fire pit. But what was in the cave other from the worn blanket, the pile of firewood, and the many different writings on the walls by him and his companion was a half-naked young looking woman. Her lower half was blocked by a large stalagmite, but her top half was bare, her pale back towards him. Short pale white hair with off pink tips covered her neck, hanging a little past her shoulders. She was fixing up her hair into two short bows, oblivious to the two who were standing at the mouth of the cave. But she finally flinched once the young Harpy ran towards the fire, her talons scratching the stone floor below. She glanced over her shoulder, her deep orange eyes sparkling like Amber. Although he’s never seen the woman in her entire life, he had a feeling of familiarity. The bag of fish fell to the ground, making a squish sound. Her expression was confusing. She seemed happy, but was covering her face with her silk covered appendages like she was afraid. A snapping confirmed his suspicion.

	It was the crab.

	“I-I…” Her mood and facial expression weren’t in sync. She was crouching down, as if trying to hide behind the Stalagmite, but her face said something completely different than fear. Irritation? Happiness? “I wanted to, I mean, I hid myself as a Crab because… Because…”

	She took a step out from behind the stalagmite. Her lower half was the pale pinkish red crab he’s known to live with for over a month. The beautiful naked meek woman was sticking out of its mouth, bubbles and saliva covering her lower regions. Her frame was small, almost childlike. Two sea shells covered her small breasts, sticking to her slimy wet skin, defying gravity. She blushed even more. He was just staring at her, not even moving. The Harpy seemed too busy watching the fire to even read the mood in the air. But what was there he could actually do? His friend that he’s known for a month, the one he ate, lived, hunted, and slept with turned out to be a beautiful looking Mamono. She brushed some of her hair out of her face, never leaving the eye contact of his. But why? Why did she hide herself?

	“I-I thought, you would be scared… If I actually revealed myself to you.” She seemed to hold her arm in a bashful manner, although her expression was that of deadpan. “Cancer… we never see men, since we’re just seen as crabs. S-So, I hid. A-And when we met, you didn’t run, or try and eat me.” She looked at him, a hint of worry in her eyes. “B-But I lied to you, about my appearance. So if you’re mad, or you want to run away, I understa-“

	Her words were cut off. His lips met her soft, warm, and inviting lips. He didn’t know what she was talking about. Why would he leave the one person he has learnt to love more than anything? His arms gripped hers, her body turning into jelly. Her eyes closed in bliss, their tongues dancing within their mouths. Her skin felt like wet silk, her lips felt like warm pillows, her spit tasting like lavender mixed with the salt from the sea. Her body pressed against hers, her sea shell covered breasts pressing against his chest. She smelt of vanilla, a smell he thought he would never smell again, especially from someone from the ocean. Bubbles began to rise, reflecting the fires light, catching the attention of the curious Harpy. The kiss finally broke, a strand of saliva keeping their lips tied to the thread of fate. Their eyes were half open, locked into each other’s gaze. He cuffed her cheek with a hand, their breaths heavy. Their foreheads pressed against each other, their gaze never leaving from each other. He wished he could just tell her, speak to her, and tell her that he... That he…

	“Love… You…” Her gaze turned into shock. He barely said it. It barely came out. But it was there. “I…. Love… You…” Although her face didn’t convey her feelings, the tears that were streaming down her cheeks said it all. She covered her mouth in surprise.

	“Y-You spoke…” She said, her voice wavy and broken. She was practically crying at this point, sniffling and huffing. “I-I’m glad…!” He hugged the crying Cancer in his arms, her tears soaking his shirt. He actually spoke. For the first time in his whole life, he actually spoke. He didn’t even realize that his eyes were beginning to get misty.

	The hug was put into a hold once he felt a poke at his side. He looked down at the young Harpy, who was watching the whole scene in curiosity. It held onto his leg, giving him a small but warm hug. He petted the Harpy on the head, never letting go of his lover. The Harpy giggled, rubbing her cheek onto his leg. This was his family. His beautiful companion since he’s known for over a month, and a young Harpy. This was his new life, he thought. His whole new life.

	“Momma and papa going to make babies!” The Harpy exclaimed. “Babies! Babies! Babies! Babies!”

	END.