Beached Whale

a tale by Sam Reeve


We walk along the ocean, eating candy and throwing the wrappers in the water. You said it was too cold to go on a walk. I secretly agree, but this way I get to see your nipples poking up from beneath your sweater.

The sea monsters are very active today. This makes you smile, seeing the giant purple squid and the submarine-sized sea-scorpions frolicking a few hundred yards from the shore. Down the beach I can see a large, black mass. Maybe something washed up.

We keep walking, and as we near the thing the air becomes fouler. It’s a whale. Neither of us have seen one since we were children.

“I thought whales went extinct five years ago,” you say, looking in disgust at the great rotting beast. Hand-crabs swarm the carcass. Blubber and blood spills out everywhere, onto the sand, and the hand-crabs poke at it with their pink digits. As we near they give us the middle finger, unhappy to have their feast disturbed.

I stare at your tits for a little while as you stare at the wrecked mammal. We have both finished our candy.

We stare at the dead whale for some time, covering our faces with our hands because of the smell. More people show up, and they all stare with us. At last, a man with glasses wearing a nice jacket walks up. He carries a clipboard and looks official, since his jacket has some kind of emblem on it.

He circles the dead whale, writing down things and stroking his little beard. He mutters a lot about scientific things.

“This is an important discovery!” he declares, raising his hand in the air, holding the pen up like a trophy. “Whales were thought to be extinct!”

I grab your hand. You are too enthralled with this scientist’s speech to do anything about it. I find his sciency blabbering boring, so I pull your hand to keep walking down the beach. You don’t budge.

“Come on,” I urge. “This isn’t even important. And it smells. Let’s go.” Still, you don’t move. You are focused on what the man in the glasses is saying. I sigh and remain standing next to you. I don’t want to leave you here alone, but really don’t want to stay.

The man keeps talking about whale biology and how they became extinct. He says that since this one popped up, there could be more whales somewhere in the ocean, hiding out in big underwater caves. It is possible that they have learned how to craft and use weapons, he muses, and this is how they have survived the sea monsters.

A big, unexpected wave crashes up towards us all, towards the beached whale. Out of the crest of the wave flies a giant sea-scorpion. Its little flipper-legs are flapping madly, propelling it forward. Its claws snap open and shut repeatedly. It lands right on top of the whale and cuts off the head of the scientist.

We leave. You are finally out of your scientist-hypnosis. We are running, side by side, with all the others who were standing with us around the whale. I look back and see the sea-scorpion snapping its claws in the air triumphantly. The scientist’s body is sticking out of its mouth. I look forward and admire your bouncing breasts.

This has been a good trip to the beach.