I don’t know what I saw that night. It was a dark time for me, in emotion, spirit, and setting. The moon hung low, but it was waning.
The dolphin swam up the orb and poked the machismo with its snout. The bubbles from its blowhole floated and popped on the surface of the ocean’s water. The orb bobbed up and down with the waves.
A giant man ate the moon one day whilst I slept. I didn’t wake from the noise, nay! But from the hunger that ate at my own body, indeed my damn old soul. Traveling this world for centuries will make a man thirst for human blood.
He reached down for the beer and gripped the cup with his hand. Spittle dripped from his beard onto the scarred, wooden table.
“Hey, um…dude,” Rick said, sitting across from him in the tavern. “There’s like, saliva. It’s coming from your mouth?”
Henry, the spit man, stared at the table with dozen eyes. He was a drone, ready to move at the slightest suggestion.
“You…do you want a drink?”
“Yes.” Henry sipped his beer. He licked his lips and twirled his fingers in the drink. “I want to kill you.”
“Dude…why?” Rick hunched his shoulders and sighed. Henry always got like this, after a night in bed together. “It’s not my fault.”
“It is.” Henry sipped his beer, and then gulped it down with a great thirst. “You don’t have to love me.”
The father went to the island council, where all of the elders met each season to decide where they should grow which crops, or in what waters the largest fish might be caught, or who may attain the right to marry in that year. The father begged the council, “Please, do not let my child die. We know that the great Domingo will soon arrive. Surely, he will pass us without harm, so long as we do not hook him. There is no wrath he can have against us, for he cannot leave the sea. Let me work thrice as hard, and produce as such, so that our little son may live.”
“Ah,” the eldest of the council said. He spoke in a slow and old voice. “When I was a young man, I gave up my child without argument. For I knew then, as I know now, that it is for the good of the island. Fear not, for you will have a home of your choosing, and fields of your own liking, if only you lose a son.”
The father looked at the ground, and then looked at the council. “We may sit and praise the grape Domingo, but really we are harming our own selves. To become dependent on another for your own source of well-being is to sacrifice your soul. For what may we possibly learn, if we only wait for another to arrive and provide so that we may have it easy?”
“Leave now, you blasphemous fool,” the eldest of the council said. The others joined in chorus, “Leave now. Leave now. Leave now.” They jeered and pointed with spindly fingers.
The father bowed his head and left. He went home and gathered his fishing gear, his rod and his hooks and his weights and his lures. He picked up his little son and carried him out of his crib. He walked to the ocean and sat in the sand.
Soon, the sun had set and the stars had shone and the sun had risen for the new day.
“Today,” the father said, “I will catch the great Domingo.”
He was a furry dressed in a lion suit with blood on his claws.
“Hey,” Tom said to him. “What’s that blood from?”
“Oh, uh…” Mike starts to say, but interrupts himself with a long scratch of his balls. Blood smears across the crotch of his pants. “That’s, uh…from when I killed a man earlier.” He yawned and sipped a sip of his ale. “I ate him.”
“Oh, cool,” Tom said. He was dressed in a seal suit. A seal whose face was bruised and skin was the color of stone. “I like to eat fish, though.”