By Wren Salazar
It’s time for me to go out in search of the beast with no name. I want only one of its scales. I’m not proficient in seamanship, though I must make an exception for this. I was told to go out at early morning, to go out of the bay and far from the island, to gaze upon an iridescent sheen of a scaled serpent. I’ve been told she glitters like a cabinet of royal jewels. I wish to feel like a noble, and I know how to do it.
I found a boat with the ability to carry me far enough, but not difficult enough to navigate so that I couldn’t find my way around. A dinghy should suffice for my trip. I made sure not to tell the owner of the boat what I was borrowing it for. Surely, if he knew, he would take the boat himself and leave me on the dock. There are few people here; even if he didn’t know my intentions, word would quickly spread. I first heard the tale of the serpent from a visitor late in the evening. Mist seemed to follow his steps, and I couldn’t see his face well through his thick beard and large, black raincoat. The dim lantern at the tavern that night cast light on his back, ensnaring me in his silhouetted words. As far as I know, I’m the only other soul to know of this serpent. So, its scales shall be mine.
I set off in the early hours of the morning before the sun rises. Fewer prying eyes, less people aiming to steal my bounty. Hopefully, I could still see the serpent at this hour. As the sea laps at the side of the small boat, I go further into the water. I go until the waves are calm, although I am restless. After an hour or so traveling through waters I’ve never navigated, I see something I have not heard of being there. Two large spires jut out of the water, sharpened like curved prongs. As I near the spires, the sun begins to rise. It nestles its rising body betwixt the two pillars. Something is off. A crimson glow emanates from the sun behind the spires. The sea grows restless as a red liquid boils underneath the dinghy. What could have caused this? As I attempt to steady myself, I hear a faint rumbling. Then louder, and louder, like screams and scraping metal. It rattles my brain from all angles; I can’t tell where it’s coming from. Help, I need help. What is happening? Through the cacophony surrounding me, I can barely look up to see a large silhouette casting me in dark shadow. Is this the serpent? Is this the end? Then, it all goes black.
I finally woke in the late afternoon. My skin raw and sun-sweltered; my throat burning. What did I see? Will I ever know? The spires are nowhere to be seen, and I don’t know where I am. I wonder if I will ever get home…
Wren is an artist and story writer looking to add some whimsy and curiosity to those around her. A lover of all things, Wren seeks to help others around her with advice or humor. She can be reached at ws81@humboldt.edu