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The Dragon’s Head Bluff was at least one and a half kilometers from the nearest village. Said village was a small coastal village with a fishing-centered economy—much like any other small coastal village. Despite the beautiful ocean view from Dragon’s Head Bluff, few villagers ever made the trip there. The view was hardly worth the trek, especially when the view from their little cottage homes was just as good. It was hardly a popular location and, as such, if one were to ask about the Dragons Head Bluff, they may get confused looks.
For they were known by a different name to the locals, even if they were hardly visited. Graveyard Cliff, that was the name they had given it. The name, however, was not as grim as it sounded. The name had come from the abundance of clutter at its bottom. Many years back, people had taken to throwing their old items not worth selling or refurbishing onto or over the edge of the cliff. Thus, the graveyard moniker came from the fact that it was filled with junk. Between the names Junk Cliff and Junk Graveyard Cliff, it was clear which would be the winner. Even so, the name had been too long for casual conversation. To avoid the hassle, it became Graveyard Cliff.
Of course, some did take advantage of the unsavory dark side of the name. Regular, ground graveyards existed in each nearby village, but when poor or unliked members of their society passed, they didn’t always want to take up valuable space in their church graveyards. They’d take these bodies and toss them over the edge of the cliff. It wasn’t cruel, it was simply a burial at sea. Now, crime in such small villages was always minor unless it was covered up—which was far more likely than one would have guessed. Bodies from such incidents being disposed of over Graveyard Cliff in the midst of the night would not be uncommon.
Even so, if one were to venture to the cliff and look over its edge, they wouldn’t see bodies or intestines strewn across the rugged rocks below. The bottom of the cliff had gathered quite the collection of splintered wood and rusty metal, but bodies could never be found. That was the miracle, or horror, of Graveyard Cliff. Whatever was disposed of either disappeared or became unrecognizable from the harsh ocean waves.
No villager, or traveler, or shady disposer ever questioned just where everything went. They had no reason to care, for no matter what they dumped, they were ridding themselves of it for a reason. And thus, no matter its distance, it was still the best spot to dispose of unwanted things.
To locals who weren’t residents of the nearby fishing villages, this cliff was known as something else. To those who lived with the cliff, Dragon’s Head Bluff was a trash heap, but to those who lived beneath the cliff, Dragon’s Head Bluff was a scavenging cache. Trinket Cove, that was the name they had given it.
To the creatures of the sea, Trinket Cove was filled with objects they had no need for but found their lives better with. With their own ever-evolving ecosystem, there was no need for wood that would float or metal that would rust, but they found uses for it. If they let it sit there it would only wash away and clutter their seas. So, it was not odd for them to head to the cove like a human would to an antiques shop. If they found anything interesting then they’d take it with them and find a use for it.
Particularly exciting discoveries were pieces of smooth carved metal, for they did not have metal like it in the sea, and it could easily be used as decoration or in equipment. Extremely unexciting was the occasional book of letter stack they found. Paper did not last long in the water, and such a state hardly let them flip through or read the contents before it broke away. If they could not even provide information or entertainment for them, it was of no use.
Visits to Trinket Cove had been occasional and done when the ocean dwellers had time to spare, at least, that was until the first human corpse was discovered. All had been horrified, worrying if such a thing could even compose in their wonderful sea. For, they were not strangers to human kind. Long ago, their kind had terrorized and been terrorized in return. As decades passed and fishy folk became somewhat closer to legends than frequent foes, they had little interaction. But, as much as mermaids and sirens were becoming myths to humans, humans had stayed foes to oceanic creatures. The less intelligent of their mix were commonly caught and killed so there was little time to believe such land dwellers to be anything other than a threat.
Thus, when that body appeared, they had begun to worry. So, the body was dragged deep under the sea to prevent human investigation into their beloved sea. When the second body appeared, they did the same. It continued with the third and the fourth and all up until the corpse they discovered was not a corpse. It was no longer odd to find the body of a human in their cove so panic had long since calmed. When the two happened upon this new body, they had thought nothing of it, but it was when they saw its chest move and its eyes begin to open that they realized this time was different. And yet, as the human who had not yet died woke up, the two had not panicked. They returned home looking happy and well-fed even though the corpse they dragged behind was whole.
Rumors of this incident spread quickly and, soon enough, the siren population frequented the cove more often than before. The mermaids, although compelled to find good trinkets before their competitors did, decided to keep their usual routine. While the two races were similar, it was these moments that proved them far different. To sirens, the new had been irresistible.
For, human life force was a delicacy. Long ago, when the conflicts were common, sirens filled their hunger on the lives and souls of humans. This hunger was one practically insatiable by any other force. They could physically eat and satisfy their stomach, but faint hunger still lingered deep in their own souls. When the confrontations became less and less, the sirens had learned to ignore this lingering sense of hunger. They could not seek out the humans on land and few ships ever passed through their waters now. Even when they did, the humans had taken precautions that left the sirens with no prey. It was wasted energy. However, when the instinct to sing—to devour—kicked in, there was no turning back. Now every siren frequented Trinket Cove in hopes of discovering a not quite dead human.
Even if they didn’t get to sing their hungry song, the human corpses were always dragged into the depths. As much as a human life was a delicacy, human flesh was far from it. It was mediocre at best and the amount of decent edible meat on them was little, but sirens and mermaids alike weren’t the type to throw out potential resource. Whether they chose to eat the flesh of humans or not, it could easily be used to feed the less intelligent creatures they cared for and farmed. Who would turn down free fish feed? After all, it meant more oceanic based food for them.
The trips were never timed or regulated, so it was up to the individual when to scavenge in the trinket paradise and who with. Most frequently, they’d arrive when the sky was dark for humans rarely disposed of their items then aside from the occasional surprise body—some had even considered trying to entice those who had thrown a body over once but decided against it.
Ango, however, liked to go when neither the sun nor moon were fully out. He found it was the opportune time for expeditions not only because the sky was bathed in beautiful colors when he emerged from the water, but because humans did not appear. And so, he could leisurely explore Trinket Cove. Much like the humans, few of his fellow sea-folk would make a trip here at these times. This was an added blessing. Free from any watchful eyes, Ango could spend these moments at the edge of the sea in peaceful bliss.
It was a relaxing place, free from most worries, but most importantly it was a place Ango could learn. While most of his kind saw humans as violent yet tasty treats—while the mermaids simply feared them—Ango saw them as opportunities. He’d always been the intellectually observant and analytical sort, but his curiosity towards humans was of another level. The fact that their lives were so different from one another and yet they shared many similar concepts within their societies was fascinating. If not for the clear hatred and fear on both ends, he may have suggested conducting experiments. Instead of suggesting something he knew no one would approve of, he satiated his curiosities at Trinket Cove.
Therefore, Ango did not go to Trinket Cove to find useful items or to enjoy a respite away from society, he came there to learn. He’d dig through the piles of coveted resources only to leave with insignificant and unusable objects. In particular, he’d always taken an interest in the books that were thrown away. He did not know how important such documentation was in human society. The lack such items among a surplus of others indicated they were rather important, or at least too valuable to toss into the ocean. Yet, the existence of even a couple indicated they were not so valuable as none could be thrown away.
It was a relief that no one else came to the cove without a moon of sun fully in the sky, or they would have seen Ango lounging on rocks of piles of trash flipping through half dry pages. One general guideline put into place after the corpse incident was to emerge from the water as little as possible. Even if humans were unlikely to be around, no one wanted to risk it. Ango was glad to avoid the accusatory or worried gazes of his comrades.
It hadn’t been until one particular sunrise that Ango had his first scare. This time, he’d been sitting on a pile of trash near the edge of the cliff, doing his best to separate the soggy pages of a book he found a few trips ago. The cliff that stretched above the cove was rather steep with little overhang, so he would have a clear view of the sun as it rose in the sky. As the waves lapped at his tail and waist, the last thing he’d expected on his calm morning was to see a couple pieces of paper to flutter down from the sky. He watched them closely and, just as he was about to reach for the first one before it hit the water, he froze. His hand darted back. Instinctually, he had been excited at the presence of new and fresh documentation. He carefully and quietly pushed his back as close to the cliff as he could, hoping the small overhang would be just enough. Luckily, he hadn’t realized too late that for new papers to fall it meant there was someone getting rid of them.
His heart raced with such panic and fear that he did not have time to mourn the loss of knowledge to the sea. He normally would have wished nothing more than to grab each piece and carefully preserve them in a little rocky nook where they would stay dry, but this was no normal time. Long after the papers had fallen and been absorbed by the ocean, he still kept himself pushed desperately to the wall. It wasn’t until the sun and sky were bright that he finally decided to leave.
The next time Ango came, for such fear could hardly be a permanent deterrent for the stubbornness of sirens, he was more careful. He did not lounge outside of the water, but he still tried his hardest to read what he could find. It just so happened that he discovered a single piece of paper a pile of trash. It’s edges had been touched by the salty sea, but a good portion of it remained in tact. He had no way of knowing if this piece was from whoever had dumped the papers in his presence a while back, but something told him it was. He could only read portions of the page thanks to the water, but it was enough to tell him it was unlike the content of the other books he’d read. No personal accounts of everyday life. No contemplation and explanation on the creation and guidance of the world. No pages depicting the stories of a town.
So, on a trip to the cliff some weeks later, he was pleased to see more.
On this particular sunrise, paper was already raining when he reached the water’s surface. He could see the remnants of numerous other papers but was not hurt by their disappearance. Instead, he was excited for the ones still falling from the sky. He could not see anyone leaning over the edge of the cliff, distributing their words to the unknown siren below, and so he decided there was no need to fear. As his head rose above the water, he began to collect up any salvageable piece of documentation.
The papers did not rain down at any specific frequency or with any certain amount. It had started with many papers being tossed, but as Ango carefully placed the papers in spots where they could dry without disk of being destroyed by the water, a few more would fall from the sky. He and the mysterious disposer continued this game for some time. One would toss trash and the other would collect treasure.
It had been some time since the last piece of paper was tossed, and Ango was beginning to believe the person had left when he noticed a large shadow above him. He looked away from the papers he had started reading only to see the sky filled with far more papers than he had seen before. Each fluttered down with its own individual weight—like the words in the story upon it—and caused them to hit one another. It was a chaotic mess, one Ango was unsure he could collect, but it was nonetheless beautiful. He made sure to welcome the beautiful book petals with open arms.
Now, Ango was no professional when it came to literature. Not to mention, this was human literature which he had very little knowledge of. As it is, Sirens had very little culture surrounding the written word. Any stories they had were passed in the form of songs and these songs were rarely eloquent. Sirens were known for their beautiful and tempting voices, which meant they had little need to make the words they sung just as beautiful. Mermaids, on the other hand, were a little more poetic. They did create some stories and had created a way to share these stories through written text, but it was still not entirely ingrained in their culture. Even so, the work they did write down was short. There was nothing like the lengthy expression of human prose.
Ango eventually began to piece together the abandoned words, seeing if they matched. Some of the pages appeared separate from the rest, with no common themes or words among them; however, the majority appeared to form one cohesive story. In fact, on some of the pages he’d picked up after the final throw, he could see smudges of ink that indicated the words were fresher than others. This story had not simply been abandoned over the cliff, but abandoned as they were written.
He may have lacked knowledge on the matter, but even he could tell the story contained on these pages was not the most profound. The world of the story was subpar and unexplained—he wondered if recovering some of the documents he missed would have helped—but it wasn’t bad. The plot itself wasn’t the best or most original, but that too was at least readable. Overall, it was a mediocre story about a boy and the sky, but what really caught Ango’s attention was that very boy. Two large factors in the story were rather lackluster, but the character within it was not. Where the author may have lacked in the other areas was certainly made up by their characterization.
The boy was flawed and far too eager, making choices without necessary thought, yet he couldn’t help but to continue reading. The boy was realistic, extremely realistic, and it was easy to relate to him, hate him, scold him, and love him all the same. The world around him may have been half developed, but the boy and the the boy’s dream were practically alive. Whereas Ango had always read the papers he found with relative academic intrigue, he found himself completely lost to his emotions with this one. By the time he finished reading what little pages of the story he had, he realized the sun had nearly risen to its highest peak in the sky.
He no longer feared his trips to the bottom of the cliff, for some part of him wanted the author who sat far above to see him, to know someone had read the words he had cast away. Even so, he made no effort to make himself noticeable. For as much as he could dream of their meeting, the truth of the fact was that for one this was Graveyard Cliff and for the other it was Trinket Cove.
He was satisfied with the other miscellaneous paper’s he’d receive. Not every trip resulted in fresh ink smudged on his thumb, but that only made him cherish the ones in which he did.
This time, he visited Trinket Cove at sunset. He knew the disposer would not be there—for it was only ever in the orange painted mornings that he’d find falling parchment—but that was of no matter. He had actual purpose this time, to find a few useful items a superior had requested. As he began his search, he to only a moment to glance at the golden descending sun behind him. It was pure coincidence that his eyes glanced past the cliff. Thus, it was pure coincidence that he managed to catch a glimpse of the dark shadow against the purple sky. He lowered himself so that only his eyes and the top of his head peaked through the water. He just needed to pay closer attention as he quietly swam towards the cliff.
When he was nearby, his sight of the figure was blocked and he began to panic. Moments later, when he realized what the large shadow that shadowed the figure was, he no longer panicked. Cascading down from above him was the rain of parchment he so loved. He stared up in awe, his whole head now above the surface, as he watched each piece of the story surround him. There was some sort of ethereal beauty to it, golden rays momentarily slipping between the cracks of falling paper. Yet, if not for those glimpses of light, he wouldn’t have seen the shadow at the center of the paper falling much faster than the rest.
And then, there was a splash. And a crunch.
Ango had not had time to move, mesmerized by the paper as he was, so he could not prepare for corpse that landed before him. He stared with wide eyes as water and paper fell around him. As nervous and borderline terrified as he had been before, he felt his instincts kick in now. He swam closer to the body.
Most of its body had landed in the water, its begs being the only thing to land on something solid. In fact, one leg had hit a sharp pointy rock, covering the nearby papers in a new type of ink. The corpse belonged to that of a young man and Ango couldn’t help but stare. His superior hadn’t requested a corpse and he wondered if he should bring it along. He’d swum over to the side of the bleeding leg, examining its position on the rock. It wouldn’t be easy to move, but it shouldn’t be all that difficult either.
“Dammit.”
His eyes darted towards the head of the young man and he could now see slightly opened eyes. It was not a corpse. It was simply the very injured body of a man. This was the exact sort of situation that warranted a tasty snack, but he did not find himself ready to sing and pounce. Instead, he carefully moved through the water back towards the head, being sure to disturb the water as little as possible.
When next to the man’s head he emerged from the ocean. They made eye contact. He was calm. The man was not. They stayed there, silently staring at one another, until a particularly large wave came through, momentarily covering the man’s face—he was not in a condition to prepare himself for the waves. When the wave had passed by, crashing into the cliff’s surface and splashing water around, the man’s face had resurfaced. He coughed and sputtered and tried to wiped at his face with a weak and shaking hand. The only reason Ango did not give in to his hunger was because he’d already long since given in to his curiosity. He’d seen the ink marks on the papers—both kinds—and had no doubt that this man was the one who had written his source of entertainment for the past couple of weeks.
As the man tried to empty his lungs without consuming more water, Ango’s hands drifted beneath him. A particularly large coughing fit raked through the man’s body as Ango wrapped his arms around him as best as possible and pushed him towards the debris nearby. He could see the man’s face contorted in pain even with the uncontrollable coughing, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Once the man was close enough to the debris that it could support him enough to keep his head from once again falling beneath the water, Ango moved away.
The man did not have the energy to follow Ango, so when he left the man’s line of sight, he could hear his breath hitch. Ango ignored it and focused his attention on swimming towards the man’s feet. Once there, he pushed himself onto the nearby junk covered rocks and looked down to the man’s face. He had noticed Ango’s presence and was staring at him with the same wide eyes as before. The coughs were smaller now and he was able to hold his head up enough to maintain that eye contact. Ango broke it, eyes resting upon the bleeding leg. Unlike before, the man did not stay silent.
“What—” His words were interrupted by a scream.
Ango had, rather quickly, grabbed the man’s leg and lifted it off the rock. He had expected the scream of pain to last longer, but it was cut off rather quickly by none other than the man himself. His eyes and mouth were both clenched together tightly, as if he was willing himself to stay quiet. Ango had not set the leg down on the debris, but instead maneuvered it so it could freely hang in the water. He did his best to move the other one there as well, but it was awkward to try and move the man from both of their positions. Luckily, as painful as the man’s leg was, it seemed he could not feel the awkwardly painful position he was in. Maybe it was simply drowned out by the wound’s pain.
When Ango had successfully moved both legs, he looked back at the man’s face. He wasn’t the kind and caring type and had he no wished to ask this man about his work, none of this would have happened. He mentally acknowledged the man would never know how lucky he was.
Unfortunately, as he sought to make eye contact with the man again, he realized moving the legs had caused the man to lose whatever sense of balance he had previous had. Now, his body was tilting and slipping in a way that meant he’d soon fall into the water. Ango was, of course, no expert on human anatomy and injury, but he was sure this man would not be able to kick his legs for support in the water, which meant he was like someone who had lost their tail. If he went under, he could hardly pull himself back up.
As Ango saw the man’s slow descent into the water, he pushed himself back into it and moved to wrap his arms around the man. He had caught the man just as the top of his shoulders touched the water’s surface. It was an awkward grab and the man was larger than him, so he had no great way of lifting or pushing him back onto the debris. He’d planned to hold the man with one hand and use the other to get leverage on a nearby surface, but he wasn’t sure he could use one hand to hold this man.
His own chin would dip below the surface every once in a while as he kicked to keep them both afloat. Unexpectedly, Ango felt the man lift his arms. It threw him a little of balance, causing his chin to fully submerge, but a few strong kicks later and he’d righted them. Even more unexpected was the way the man’s arms wrapped around the back of his neck just beneath the water’s surface. The man held as tightly yet comfortably as he could and Ango realized he was trying to help.
He removed one of his hands form the man, using it to grab at the nearest large surface. As he kept them afloat, he could feel the tip of his tail brushing against the man’s toes. He was unsure if the blood that surely tricked from his leg wound and into the depths of the ocean would attract any other company, but didn’t have time to contemplate the matter. After bracing himself, he gave a couple of powerful kicks and did his best to place the man on the surface. It had worked well enough, even though the man’s body was still mostly submerged.
As he began to move away, the arms that encircled him loosened. He moved back just enough so he could lift up a different part of the man’s body to try and hoist him onto the debris clad rock. Ango was not the strongest, but he’d always thought himself athletic enough. Lifting something—someone—above the surface of his familiar ocean was far more difficult than he’d imagined. It took some time, but he finally managed to move everything but the man’s legs onto the small makeshift platform.
He once again lifted himself out of the water and onto the platform. His tail—much like the man’s legs— remained mostly in the water. A large sigh left him as his eyes closed. He was far more tired than he’d been before. The small cough that left the man beside him drew his attention. He’d momentarily let down his guard in his exhaustion. He straightened up and opened his eyes, looking at the man beside him.
Said man simply stared at him, eyes less wide than before. He clearly didn’t know what to say. Ango didn’t want a situation like this, for the whole reason he’d spared the man was due to some inexplicable pull of his writing. He wanted a conversation, not silence. With another sigh, he reached to grab a nearby paper, damaged not only from the water but from blood as well. He picked it up as carefully as possible and although there was no way to read the contents through such bloody red ink, he knew his point would come across.
“You’re the one that’s been throwing your writing here, aren’t you?”
The man just stared at him. He frowned.
“Oh,” recognition fluttered across rapidly blinking eyes, “yes. I am.”
It had taken a little longer than Ango wanted, but the man had responded. Despite the answer, he still expected the man to looked shocked but was a little surprised to see none of the man’s earlier shock on his face. He had accepted the situation rather quickly. Maybe his reaction was due to the imagination that created his stories, or maybe he was simply stupid. As Ango stared at the man with slightly narrowed eyes, he offered a small smile. He was not thrilled to see himself reflected in that smile, a smile that lacked anything. Ango decided he had to be a combination of both.
“I’m not sure which I’m more curious about,” he handed the limp paper to the man, “your reason for throwing away your writing or your reason for falling with it.”
The man wordlessly offered the paper to the sea. He didn’t respond until the drifting paper was no longer visible beneath the water’s surface.
“I always wanted to be an author. I even traveled all the way to Graveyard Cliff to take inspiration from the sunrise. I thought it would help me write better.” He paused, gazing at the last slivers of golden sun on the horizon. “It didn’t.”
He showed no signs of answering the later question, but he didn’t need to. The two of them were very different in many ways, but he knew that look in his eyes and the slight pursing of his lip. The man didn’t need to say it. He knew.
“So you’re like the boy in your story.” Now Ango paused. “The Boy Who Flew to the Sky.”
“You read it?”
Ango nodded. “How could I not when you keep throwing it into Trinket Cove?”
“So that’s what you guys call it?” while phrased like a question, he could tell it was clearly meant as a statement.
“You’re taking this awfully well,” the man looked at him.
It had been decades, maybe even centuries, since considerate contact between the two species. He was well aware humans hardly believed them to be anything more than myths and legends now. His statement on that matter had been vague, but the man understood.
“Well, you’re right in front of me. Why shouldn’t I?”
It was a rather simple way of processing things, but maybe the simplicity of it was felt so compelling. Ango didn’t know why he felt comfortable around this unknown man—this human—but the way they spoke like they didn’t come from completely different lives was surprisingly comforting. Then again, had this man not abandoned his writing—his future as an author—they probably would never have met like this. Such unfortunate circumstances brought them together, that was rather cruel. Yet, he couldn’t judge. Such meetings were simply how the world worked at times. In his experience, few beautiful things were not cruel.
“Honestly,” the man spoke with his eyes no longer on Ango, “I’m still half convinced I did die and you’re some sort of angel.”
“How ironic that would be.”
The man shrugged.
He knew about the human’s concept of angels. Beautiful beings of good who guided the lost and deceased. This man also seemed to think that few beautiful things weren’t cruel if he were to mistake a siren for an angel.
“I’m sorry I littered your Trinket Cove with my work. They say one man’s trash is another one’s treasure, but I’m afraid I offered universal trash.”
Ango peeked at the man from the corner of his eye. He stared into the vast ocean with a blank expression.
“I would not say so. It may not have been the most beautiful prose I’ve read,” the man glanced at him, “but it was not a bad story.”
The man was no longer looking at him. “You don’t seem like the type to give meaningless flattery.”
“I am not.”
“Then, thank you.”
The two sat in silence, listening to the water strike nearby rocks and debris. The two did not know one another—in fact they should fear one another—but they both felt comfortable enough to spend their time together in silence. Eventually, Ango thought of something else to say—something that was also not a meaningless flattery.
“Your writing wasn’t bad, and you still look young, so I think with more practice you’d improve. You look young enough.”
A bitter smile momentarily graced the man’s lips. “You’d think, but I’ve been trying to write for years. I’ve changed my concepts, my style, and done whatever I could to improve. There’s little that’s changed and my writing is still no good. I must not have the talent for it.”
Ango let out a hum, considering the man’s words. “You have a pretty good grasp on characterization, though. From reading your work alone, I could see you have a great understanding of the mind and how people work. Maybe you just don’t understand the world and how it works in the same way.”
“Maybe.” A long period of silence passed. “You liked the boy in the story?”
“I didn’t.” The man was looking at him, with slight sadness on his face. “I thought he was foolish, naive, and annoying. But then, I grew to care for him as he moved along. He didn’t change much, but he didn’t need to. Rather than your story being about satisfying the reader, it felt like it was to teach me—to make me realize the boy’s purpose and understand while he truly was foolish and naive, he was also someone with great strength and direction. To consider one’s own thought process all while falling in love with a character once despised, that is something I’ve never before seen of heard.”
The sadness had left the man’s face and although his expression was still blank, it was clear he almost felt happy from the words. He had looked at Ango during the explanation, but now his eyes were once again trained on the rippling water.
“I’m glad you grew to like him. I…the boy in the story truly just wished to reach the sky, something everyone said was impossible.”
Ango nodded. “But he kept going not because he didn’t believe them, but because he couldn’t afford not to fly to the sky.”
“I’m glad my only reader was someone who understood him.” Ango knew there was some type of deeper meaning to his words, but didn’t know the man well enough to know what it was.
“I’m glad it was able to read it.”
“You know,” the man tilted his head just enough to look at Ango, “I may not have enjoyed my writing like you did, but I did have a favorite line. What was yours?”
Ango thought for a moment. “I’d have to say it was: ‘He could not gain the help of a bird nor the help of a cloud, for it was an endeavor hoping for help and yet, it was an endeavor he could only accomplish alone.’”
“That’s a good one. A reflection on the importance, and sometimes necessity, of taking on a task by yourself.”
“It was a line I felt was particularly realistic. The tragedy of life is not having no one to rely on, but rather being unable to rely on those you do have.” The man nodded. “And your favorite line?”
The man did not need to think long. “The windy breeze was not a cocoon of safety, but splinters of the earthly cage that would not let him reach the sun-laden sky.”
Neither spoke.
“I do not recall that line.”
“It was in the papers I threw today. I’d tried to write an ending so many times, but each time it failed. I thought there was nothing more fitting than to fall as the failure the story depicted.”
Ango did not respond, there was no way to. In the end, the boy in the story had tried to reach the sky. He had reached it, he had relished in it, but there was nothing to gain there and no reason to go on. The Boy who Flew to the Sky. So, as cruel as it would be to admit it, it was fitting for the author to meet his end in the opposite of the boy who had failed, who he had failed. Instead, Ango said something else.
“I would have liked to read the rest.”
“I wish you could have.”
And he never could. Instead of The Boy Who Flew to the Sky, he now had the man who fell to the sea. Ango glanced at the man’s legs, which remained completely still next to his own swaying tail. Both were tragic tales—tragic tales that brought something beautiful if only for a moment. His eyes trailed up from the man’s legs and to his face. It was his first good look at the man, with his reddish brown hair and unkempt stubble.
“And, pray tell, what is the name of this author?”
The man looked at him and they made eye contact. They stared into one another’s eyes. The man was searching for something. Ango did not know if he found it. He offered another blank smile, although this one felt a little softer.
“Oda Sakunosuke, but friends call him Odasaku.” He held out a hand. “And what is the name of his first and only reader?”
Ango blinked at the hand, only realizing as Odasaku grabbed his hand and put them together than he was aiming for a handshake. He’d heard about it, but it wasn’t used in the culture of sea folk. He squeezed the hand he now held onto and gave it a firm shake.
“Sakaguchi Ango.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“And you as well.”
Silence once again descended, although this time they broke neither their eye contact nor their handshake. They sat in place, holding their gazes and hands. Yet, once again, Ango was the one to break the silence.
“I can help so that it no longer hurts.”
The statement seemed innocent enough, but considering one was a siren and one was the shell of a man it was hardly meant to be innocent. Even so, Ango was not seeking to trick the man. He had enjoyed his writing and company for however short lived it may have been. What he’d gathered about the man, about Odasaku, he would understand what Ango meant—what he offered.
“Would it hurt?”
Ango shook his head. “Consider that a thank you for your words.”
Odasaku smiled, it was the most genuine of all the ones he’d offered. His face quickly returned to its emotionless state. “I’d appreciate that. Thank you, Ango. I suppose you can also consider this a parting gift from an author to his favorite reader.”
Ango did not respond, he simply stared into Odasaku’s eyes. He took a deep breath. Then, he sang.
It was the best song he could think of, one he felt Odasaku might enjoy. A song about longing and loss, a song he felt oddly fit them both. As he sang, he could see Odasaku’s body relax, and his eyes beginning to drift. As his body began to sway, Ango reached out. One hand was placed on Oda’s leg and the other upon his cheek to brace them both as the song continued. As Oda’s eyes began to glaze over, no longer burdened by pain, he took began to relax.
It was a little sad, but he tried not to concern himself with it. At the end of their blessed meeting, it was only natural they both left having received what they wanted. Both would get satisfaction. The slight pang in his heart as the words he sung gained more meaning was luckily dismissible.
“Over there!”
The grating shout shocked him out of his singing and consciousness began to find its way back into Odasaku’s eyes. Ango’s eyes were wide with panic as they shot to look cliff. The voices had not come from the tip, but from a ways back, in a lower spot where they two of them were somewhat visible. His sharp nails dug into Oda’s cheek as he pushed him away, teeth slightly bared.
Bang.
The shot rang through otherwise silent sunset. Ango’s mouth was now opened in a gasp as he felt himself falling into the water behind him. He’d been distracted. He hadn’t acted fast enough. He saw Oda’s own eyes widen in recognition as he fell into the sea. He felt his vision swirl. He hardly had time to recognize the small stream of dark liquid that rose to the surface in the sunset’s last glow, for he once again saw a large dark shadow over him.
As he drifted further into the depths, strength mostly lost, he could just barely focus on the man above him. Oda had no way of moving closer other than trying to pull himself with his arms, cheeks slightly puffed with his last breath. As he pushed and pulled the water, trying to move for Ango, he’d suddenly stretch his arms out in an attempt to reach the sea creature. Ango let them drift deeper and deeper. It wasn’t until he saw a large amount of bubbles leave Oda’s mouth that he reached back.
The usual blankness on Oda’s face had been replaced by utter desperation. Ango pulled them close together, wrapping his arms around the other. Odasaku returned the action. One of Ango’s hands moved to Oda’s cheek, caressing the scratches he’d accidentally left. He glanced at Oda once again, realizing he no longer needed to see the glazed look from before. The young man could not speak nor breath below water, but he could. Softly, solemnly, he delivered the last few lines of the song before pressing their lips together. He could only think of the lines Oda had spoken of, an ending of blissful failure.
As the two fell further and further into the sea, he knew this sea would provide neither of them the warmth they sought in one another’s arms, nor would provide anything other than that beautifully cruel end. The salty depths were not a cradle of comfort, but shards of the aquatic tomb that would not let them reach an embrace-laden coexistent sea. Together, they fell to the sea.