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Pooling.
Pools, a word so often described with water-
Underwater. The kelp swirled above, fins dancing in and out of currents. Little natural sun complemented the artificial light down in the fake grass he laid in.
The blood was pooling, and Charles couldn’t do anything about it. It was pooling- oh god, he was dying. Not just him, but Isaac too.
”One cast out, yeah?” the ginger confirmed at the docks he called home. Benjamin nodded sweetly.
“One cast out, we’ll see who can catch the biggest fish!”
There was a snicker from Cletus, who dragged down his goggles and pulled up his scarf. “You fuckers are on!”
One cast. It's like how Benjamin had one attempt, how Cletus- hell, all of them, had one life.
His was visibly draining in the form of crimson blood. Isaac’s strangled breathes shook his already frail body.
Isaac won that friendly competition. Isaac won more often than not, it seemed. Benjamin played it off as luck when Cletus got upset. Charles was never too certain, perhaps it was a skill, or a third sense of just.. Knowing.
He knew where the currents swept just at a quick glance, where the largest fish in the ocean swam, when a storm was rolling in.
That was fine, though. It made Charles’ few wins even better. Most of those being speed, an odd trait for somebody’s life who revolved around the water.
Even with the predicted win, all four boys cooked up what they did catch. It was just the four of them, even back in the village, before they moved out. They had to take care of eachother- it was all they had. A reel and some bait only lasted one man so long.
The smell of campfire was strong, as they all bit into their seafood.
“Remember when Charles thought that a random dolphin was a shark?” Cletus blurted out suddenly. Laughter erupted with that memory, from all four. Even Charles, who remembered that day far too clearly.
The four of them were laughing, with the seabreeze pulling on their hair.
The breeze. It was so stagnant, there seemed to be no air flow..
Not enough air reaching his lungs.
And then there was that god-awful tall figure, skin patched black and white. His dapper suit, the charming glasses, tired eyes.. It was all so fake, like the ground he laid on.
The freakishly tall being. His eyes just.. Stared. He didn’t even finish his prey.. (Was that all him and his friends were? Mere prey, a game, some fun?)
The figure stood for everything bad it evil, Charles decided with as much rage as his draining body could muster.
The storm was bad. Isaac had warned them, but with the wind whipping around the house still made him extremely nervous, it was only a shack built into a hill, after all.
With the shudders closed and the lack of electricity on the small island, they resorted to candle and torch light.
“Well, its not the worse storm-” Isaac started,
But Charles never got to recall the rest. His blurring, darkening vision was far too concerning. He was going to die, underwater, forgotten.
Lazily, his eyes rolled over to Isaac, who also seemed to be struggling to hold onto anything he had left.
His voice hoarse and weak, Charles couldn’t help but to say one last good-bye.
“Thanks for the memories, Isaac.”
His friend smiled before meeting death, but Charles never got to see.