[An instalment in a work in progress, click ‘fantasy’ on the right to view all entries in this story, in reverse order from most recent to least]
Legends told of a noble folk who lived in the sea. The oldest of them were more than a thousand years of age, though those who said so were rarely listened to. In fact, in later progressed times, it was considered foolish to believe there was an ounce of truth to any of it. It was generally only those with nothing to loose who would mention such things at all: the drunks, the widowers; the unwanted… those freed from the worry of what others might think about their foolish waywardness.
Alex was most definitely not yet unwanted, and was expected by a loving father to take note of what others thought of him. His mother too often warned him not to talk long with the ‘fogies’ at the pub. They were just as likely to tell him lies for amusement as they were to tell him real stories, she had said with an eyebrow raised. Alex’s father would have none of it at all. He was a ‘big man’, or so said others who envied his bulging pockets. He loved nothing better than to buy things and sell them for more than he paid. ‘Don’t you let me down, son.’ he had said many a time. ‘Just do what’s expected of you. Nothing more, nothing less. There’s shame in being different, and no room for shame in business!’
So Alex learned to keep his interests hidden and his eyes on the ground, no matter where his mind was. But when he walked each day along the cliff top, when no one was nearby, he would gaze and stare into the waters and waves, roaming his eyes across the sea, looking for an uncanny splash, a bump or a shadow, anything to make his world more interesting. For he was not convinced that all drunks were liars. The spark that lit in their eyes when they brought forward the past told him otherwise.