The year of the Great Storm was the greatest flood anyone could ever recall on the small island of Maredoyl. Grey clouds swiftly rolled in with the crash of thunder and lashing of the waves. It poured for five days straight with no pause. The streets flooded, knocking away houses and tearing up trees. The storm was absolutely merciless. The people fled to their church seeking sanctuary, praying to their God for help- but even He could now hear their cries over the howling of the wind. For those five days the world seemed quite black as it seemed the great flood of the Old Testament had come again to wipe out humanity. At last, on the sixth day, the water quickly retreated and the sun shone brightly the next morning, as if it was the very first sunrise.

It was by some miracle that no one died during that storm. Water once covered the entire island, seeming as if the landmass itself was about to drown, now restored. Houses were in disrepair- roofs blown off, foundation ruined, and soon mold would grow if not promptly dried out. The community rallied together to support one another, all forget their differences to fix what had been lost. After this great disaster, everyone had lost something, and it was this which brought them together.

That following morning the world seemed to be born anew. The sky was bluer and the clouds were bright yellow as the sun shone brightly through. The grass was greener and the sparkle of water droplets of leaves seemed an Eden, a paradise born from chaos.

At dawn, a lone fisherman awoke on the now-tranquil ocean. He had gone out to sea, as he did every morning, to set his nets over his boat and wait until he’d snared his catch for the day. He had laid his head down to rest on the rim of the boat’s side, quickly falling into a deep sleep, listening to the steady beating of the waves softly lapping against his vessel. Suddenly, he was jolted from his slumber, awaking to find himself far out to sea with the shoreline nowhere to be found on the horizon. The dark clouds swirled above him, like a vortex to hell, beckoning him to enter. The sea was black with tall waves throwing the small boat across the water viciously. He was at the mercy of fate, accepting himself to soon behold the man in black robes before the storm had ceased. By some impossible miracle, which defied possibility, he was delivered on that sixth day unharmed. In fact, he had thought himself to have died in the storm and the glimmering rays of sunlight he felt prickling his face was Heaven.

So he rode to shore steadily, with its white beaches glinting like diamonds while also cluttered with remnants of the storm. When the fisherman had reached the bank, he dismounted from the raft and plunged his feet into the cold, salty water and took it by its rim, dragging it onto the sand behind him. He brought his hand to his brow and looked about him, shading his eyes. Far before him was a girl covered in seaweed, lying on the sand as the waves licked her feet. He dashed to her aid, sliding on his knees beside her. He took her shoulder and shook her strong, shouting, “Miss! Miss, awaken!”

He flipped her over, so she’d lie on her back and he took off his jacket, laying it upon her bare body to cover her. He laid his hands, one over the other, upon her chest and jolted her five times- but she did not awake. Then he wiped the sand and dried sea-salt off her face gently with his weather-worn hands. He pinched her nose and kissed her, breathing life into her. At last her eyes flashed open and threw herself upward, gasping for air. For a moment she laid their coughing and wheezing, choking up water she had swallowed.

“It hurts so much! The air is so coarse and hard it feels like every breath is death!” She chokes, tears welling up in her steel blue eyes.

“It hurts?” The fisherman asks, concerned. “Your lungs, do they burn?” Her eyes squint, tilting her head to the side slightly in puzzlement. He clears his throat to start again. Pointing to his own chest and throat, he asks, “Is this how it hurts?”

She shakes her head ‘yes’ quickly, clutching her throat in pain.

He thinks for a moment, responding, “You are probably dehydrated. You need water.” Her eyes lit up at this. “Can you stand?” She shakes her head yes and clumsily stumbles to her feet and starts moving to the sea. He grabs her hand and gestures to the city, “No, no. This way.”

They make their way up the beach to where once stood a small wooden shack, but now was a scattered pile of driftwood, seaweed, fishing nets, and tarps. After taking a few minutes to rummage through the clutter, the fisherman emerged with a sheet, almost dry, and some fishing hooks. She wrapped the sheet around her body and he helped her fasten and bend the hooks to hold it up. After that, they continued further into town, in search of water, only to be met with disappointment. The local seamstress, whose shop was the first one upon entering the city’s streets, informed them that the salt water had flooded into the wells, so only a select reserve was available, and to be strictly rationed. She was a slightly plump woman with blonde hair now starting to turn a faint gray. Her lilac gown and white apron were stained with mud, her hair loosened from its neat bun. Taking pity upon the pair, she welcomed them inside to spend the night, sharing the fish which had washed up on shore for dinner.

The young girl saw a bucket of salt water, and rushing to it with great speed, put it to her lips and took a large swig of it, only to spit it out again a moment later with great abhorency. The seamstress could not help but giggle slightly in pity. “Child, no you wouldn’t like that…” She says. “I hope you like fish, because that is all you’re getting, I expect, for quite some time.”

The young fisherman went to put himself to use in the kitchen preparing dinner as the shook-up girl waited, looking around the room in awe. As their backs were turned, she put her hand in the bucket and muttered something in a foreign tongue under her breath. Suddenly, the water distilled into clear, fresh water. She put it quickly to her lips again, finishing what had remained.

When at last dinner was cooked, the seamstress brought in a delicate tablecloth made of white lace, which was blowing in the wind as it dried on a makeshift clothing line. She gently placed it on the wooden table before them and a large silver platter with fish was set before them. Then she fetched from the kitchen three silver platters and three knives. Each of them took a pair and pulling out a chair, sat down to give thanks for their meal.

The fisherman and seamstress bent their heads in reverence, hands folded. The girl with sun-bleached hair looked at them for a moment in confusion, but then copied their gesture- closing her eyes as they did, only to peek with one eye open every few moments to see if they had changed. The seamstress began, “Oh Lord, we thank you for the meal you have blessed us with. Even in times of trial, you provide for us- your wayward flock of sheep. Bless us, our Lord, for these gifts which we are about to receive. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.”

They opened their eyes to see the peculiar girl looking at them with a bright-eyed expectancy. The fisherman gave out a chuckle, “I think she’s hungry… Shall we begin?” he offered. Each taking a fish from the large pile of salmon, trout and cod, they began to dig into their meal.

Clearing her throat the seamstress inquired, “So where are the pair of you from?” She looks to the fisherman, taking a closer look at him. Pointing her finger at him hesitantly, “You look vaguely familiar, but then again, I do not get many male visitors. Their mothers and later wives always fetch it for them. But the girl… I don’t think I have ever met you before child.”

The fisherman interjects. “My name is Jasper… I’m a fisherman so I live closer to the coast line. As for the girl,” he leans in closer to whisper in the seamstress’ ear. “... She was washed up on shore bare of any clothing. She may have been victim of a shipwreck.”

The seamstress turns a ghastly white in shock. “Nothing?! Oh my Lord,” She exclaims, fanning herself. “Well let me see what I can rustle up for you, dear girl. And perhaps it is indeed best for us to eat the rest of the meal in silence?” She suggests.

Then her head snaps up in remembrance. “Oh, child… What is your Christian name?” She asks. The girl shrugs with nothing to offer. Jasper suggests the name ‘Marina’, meaning ‘of the sea’ and the girl smiles greatly at this. She whispers the name to herself, grinning that she now has a name of her own.

The following year brought many changes. Jasper and Marina were happily married. They were quite the sight. Jasper’s shaggy, dark brown hair and deep brown eyes and tanned skin from the long days at sea were so different from Marina’s white figure with steel blue eyes. The town slowly, but surely, recovered from the storm. The gardens were replanted and the houses all rebuilt with new bricks. It was more than restored, but better than before.

Marina was taken under the seamstress’ wing. Everyday in town she’d learn more till she became the icon of high fashion herself. She even surpassed the women of ‘old money’. She’d attend the right parties, bringing the sunshine with her wherever she went. There was an surreal beauty to her which surpassed all others. Everyone would simply stop and stare to look at her- not of envy, but in awe. Marina would sew blankets for the children of the orphanage and give leftover food to others. For this, she was called a saint, sometimes even an angel, in passing.

Soft rain would trickle down to earth, but never a true storm. Every morning she’d walk out to the beach with Jasper and wade into the water with him as he would sail away in his boat. One day, not unlike any other, Jasper came home to find Marina lying on her back, her hands raised, watching the streaks of sunlight cut between the creases of her fingers. He lay down beside her and put his hands up beside hers. They laid there for an hour in silence, taking in the sweet air, listening to the wind rustle in the treetops. Jasper at last rolled over to face Marina, pulling out a necklace from his pocket. It was home-made, with bright pink ribbon holding bright seashells of various colors. “I know it isn’t much…” he began, only to be cut off by Marina tightly embracing him.

After a long while, he offered, “Here… Let me hang it ‘round your neck.” She pulled her hair back as he tied it gently. He brushed a fallen wisp of hair from her face, asking “How ever did I become so lucky to have you come into my life?”

She looks deep into his eyes with a soft smile, “I stayed because I fell in love with you.” That night Marina made him a fine fish dinner, similar to that of their first night. They went to bed and she turned to him saying, “Always know I will never stop loving you.” To which he responded that he loved her too.

Jasper woke up at the crack of thunder. He flung his arm over to the other side of the bed, only to find it empty. The sheets were still warm, the covers thrown up and the door was flapping open and closed in the wind. He lit a lantern and ventured out into the pouring rain, screaming Marina’s name.

In the distance he saw her far out to sea, hands raised to the sky. He dropped the lantern on the sand as he ran for her, calling out in panic. She turns to face him, watching him dive in after her. Salty tears fall from her face into the ocean as the wind screams behind her. She wants to run for him, but a pit in herself, deep inside, is gnawing away a hole. Something, once a part of her, is quickly disappearing. With a sigh, she quickly disappears under the tumultuous waves. Jasper swims under the water to save her, but he is too late. By the time he reaches the shore, her body has gone cold and white. The only thing of color is the simple necklace around her neck.
  The word got out the following day. Almost the entire town gave their condolences- all remarking the beauty was gone too soon from the earth. That night, the lonely fisherman made his way to the seamstress’ house, who knew her as well as he. After a meal in silence, he opened up after a few drinks of whiskey. Jasper asked why she did what she did if she loved her. After a long time of contemplation the seamstress responded, “I don’t condone what she did, nor do I fully understand it… But you and I know as well as everyone in town here that she didn’t quite belong. I have no doubt that she loved you, so neither should you… But changing who you are- even for love- can eat away at the strongest of us… I do not for sure, but sometimes we give into that pain- to feel the empty nothingness of peace.”

At dawn he took her casket from the churchyard, where it sat beside an empty grave. He slowly carried it down to the shore line where he set it inside his rowboat. Hacking away a small dent so it would slowly sink into the water, he released it with a prayer that he might see her again in another life.

It is said that if you listen closely to the winds off the shoreline, you can hear the kind fisherman whispering to his love. There they spend their eternity together when this one was not enough.

FIN