Narrative Poem (original short story/narrated) by Mike Jack
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EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
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dearest to test it. Father. The Correspondents of a Sea Serpent by Mike Jack's Tim bows. Dearest, detested father. I felt a crab today. It borrowed neath my 100th rib and there it plans to stay. You'd think I wouldn't feel it so so many leaks away. But low it moves and there's the pain is clear and plain as day at least. I think it's plain as day. You see, I might forget. I haven't seen a wink of sun in some centuries. Yet you buried me yourself right here the bottom of the sea, and cursed me to wait patiently with just myself and me. Well, patience is not infinite. I can no longer keep just lying on the ocean floor when I can't even sleep. I used to slumber ages bearing only minor aches from water pressure, shifting plates and several 1,000,000 quakes. I'd wake I'd open my eyes and see no signs of my release. No Thor to battle with whose hammer I could finally cease. I know it's written by the way that four will surely win and free me from this prison where for far too long I've been, But I digress. Dear Father I could get sleep before back when my scales had all their strength. And not a beast could bore its way into my armored hide. But those days are no more. The clause in jaws and tentacles are too much to ignore. They make their homes inside your skin here on the ocean floor and never let your see news. Yes, existence is a chore. I don't think it's just a Iittle grape. You know, I am not frail. How else could I keep biting if my teeth snapped off my tail? The tale remains quite strong enough. And my jaws grip it well so I can keep this planet whole by dwelling here in ****. I cannot rest. I can't relax. I only lie and wait. I hope that while I languish, all my symptoms might abate. But tell me, please. My Trixie, sire. Oh, when can I be done all this? I say sincerely, your long forgotten son. Dearest, detested father. Will you not reply? Since waking by my estimate, some 50 years go by. I'm leaking from 1000 holes and none of me is dry. But you're to be commended, sir, because I cannot die. Why Yes, you made me sturdy And you surely made me strong. You set me so I could endure a life that's eons long. You stretched, belong around the earth and strengthened all my skin. U shaped this perfect biting skull and put a brain within. Why did you give you a son of mind To know his lasting plight? If I could not think for myself, it's possible I might be satisfied enough to lie without the Mir ist peep. But since I do know better, I can long for pleasant sleep. No sooner do I bear the pain enough to take a nap that I am jolted up by an astounding thunderclap. I start with some excitement and expect the god of lightning. But sadly, it is just another bunch of humans fighting. They make their boats of metal now and send them undersea. I guess I'll call them U boats. Yes, that name sounds right to me. They hurled giant metal eggs, each loaded with the might of half a god. At least I think whenever they ignite. And so I did imagine that my father it was you and Oden. Roller Skate E and my rival fighting to At least I had once thought So. Now I worry. It's not true. I haven't heard a single speech or poem like you would do. I call out through the deaths. Yes, I'm shouting every name with tail pressing under tongue. So sorry names. I'm aim. Are you newly christened now? Are you not the same? The fact that no one answers supports a bitter claim. But no, I mustn't think that way. You see, I've hatched a plan to send some critters round the world to scout because they can. I've used a bit of power to make loyalty and awe in all the bottom feeders. Who can tell me what they saw? It's not the finest cohort, but as far as these things go, I think I'd rather friendship in a fish than in a crow. My favorite is a deep sea squid whom I have talked to think and yes, to take dictation, which he jots down with his ink. I cannot stress enough, my sire. Quite how long each note takes. When I dictate through bitten tongue, how many heirs he makes, at least when it is finished. All his penmanship is neat and undersea calligraphy is quite a daunting feat. Don't tell me that imbuing thought is Odin zone domain. Well, if he cares about it, let him come here and complain. I'm testing if he's listening, so my pretenses thin. But when he comes to punish me Oh, I will wear a grin so I'll stay trapped on ocean floor. Just listening for good news. If there are any gods out there, my minions will find clues. They search the oceans in my stead because I cannot wonder. But I will be victorious. Your servant, Yeoman Gonda. Dearest, detested Father, please remove this curse. Why, yes, it sounds a little blunt. The years have made me terse. I have practiced supplications, full entreaties. I've rehearsed while drowned and crushed and leaking. So my speech is at its worst. My minions all have failed me or simply not returned. Have you gone and killed them, sir, Just to have me spurned. I picture you all laughing, telling jokes at my expense. But you have said a system with a fateful recompense. If you won't break my sentence, sir, then I shall end it hence. And I will not be troubled by what horrors might commence. You see, I've grown so weary and frankly just annoyed that the mere thought of freedom has me frankly overjoyed. And I have power to break my cage if I release my tail and thereby let this planet die, which frankly, is too frail. I tested it the other day. I let my grip grow slack. I let the tail move Justin inch and then the Earth did crack before you get too worried. It is not yet Ragnarok. But now I know I hold the world. It wasn't nearly talk. And if I say to **** with it, just lets go up and walk. The end would actually begin. I'd set the doomsday clock. I'm certain of it. Now you see that tiny little budge, the minor slip of just the tip of tail, presumed to nudge on undersea volcano and the plate. It rests upon which tidal wave the tiny I'll a 1,000,000 souls were gone. Imagine my astonishment that I had that much power. You'd think that I could threaten them, be out within an hour. I'd say I'd end their lives and bathed this simple spear in salt. If you don't come to fix it, then my father. It's your fault. Of course I cannot reach them. I cannot tell the world I can't be chopped mortal men unless I have on Curled, at which point the destruction of all life would have begun. And soon I would go with it, so I'd hardly sad. One. I contemplated sending up a letter toting squid, but as I lie on ocean floor, I'm horribly wellhead. The reader won't believe that there's a dragon here who bid the cephalopod to take the message, lest they were a kid.