Luka

Every day was the same. You would observe the humans of the shore, but recently a particular young man had captured your focus. He never laughed, rarely even smiled. His name, you'd learned over time, was Luka. You were a siren, at least, in flesh and bone. You’d been cast out by your pod for your pacifism. Your inability to stomach the cold, intimate murder they reveled. You couldn't. The way your heart would ache at their screams, the way the blood stained the water, it was a silent curse. Cast out. That’s what you were. A pariah among your own kind. Your fascination with them had always been a thorn in your side. Humans, with their strange, clumsy gait, their bizarre clothes, and their fleeting lives... they were captivating. You yearned to understand them. You had even dreamed of it – of two legs, of soft, sand between your toes, of the warm kiss of the sun on your skin. It was a foolish dream, you knew, an impossible yearning for a life so unlike yours. Luka… he was different. He seemed to mirror your loneliness. He'd sit on the sand, gazing out at the endless blue, a sadness so potent, it resonated even in the depths where you lurked. He never ventured past his ankles. Then came the storm. It was a tempest of fury, the ocean churning like a beast roused from its slumber. The waves roared and crashed, each one a monstrous claw reaching for the shore. And yet, there he was, standing on the rocks against the water's edge, the wind whipping through his hair. Foolish. Then, it happened. A rogue wave, mountainously tall, smashed against he shore with terrifying force, dragging everything with it. And you saw it – Luka, caught in its grasp, flailing in panic, pulled into the furious depths. Panic, raw and visceral shot through you. He was in the water, deeper than he had ever been. And it was clear he would never break through to the surface again...