A man sat in his boat. The boat raised and fell with the waves of the Pacific Ocean. With every rise a heart beat dropped in worries the ship would too. A rich man once said with money comes loneliness and distrust in those around you. Though this yacht sailed large, only a few traveled upon it. Four men and two women.
The four men consisted of Ryan, the Captain, a bartender, and the brother of the two women. Ryan owned this yacht. Ryan was a dick. A man of wealth from, god knows where, and effected by deep rooted alcoholism. Ryan was a white man, tanned along his arms and legs in a lack of adventure. With no hair upon his head, Ryan wore a red bandana either to avoid sunburns, or to prevent blinding someone with it's glare. Equipped with cargo shorts and flip-flops, Ryan ventured to one of the women on the boat. She had blonde hair, but was morphing in Ryan's eyes.
As he approached, she stared into the sky which was blue minutes ago. The air had been thickened, as a grey mass destroyed the light. Ryan stood a foot from the woman as he mustered the courage to start a conversation. "It sure looks like it's going to rain later." Ryan turned to the woman, cocktail in hand. The young woman turned to him with a grin. With a smirk on his face, Ryan looked out to the horizon and pointed. "A wind storm is indeed going to rock the ship." The confident man then looked into her eyes, right eyebrow raised. "Maybe you ought to keep me warm tonight during the storm."
Though Ryan would have loved to take her by her hands and drag her to the cabin, that just seemed to not be the case. Ryan was instead met with a bright flash of white and a pain to his right cheek. The woman had stomped off after unleashing a slap of 1000 souls, including the one she slapped right out of the young millionaire.
Ryan stood, staggered for a few minutes. He managed to lift his left leg, then his right, moving his lifeless body toward the bar. Ryan had left behind a grey sky, darkening to a black mass by the end of the night. Rain and wind had shoved into the yacht, awakening Ryan at the bar.
His face clobbered, swollen at the cheek. A crash slams to the floor! Ryan looks up, thinking it was himself that fell. But in relief, it was one of the nine shot glasses from the table. Ryan picked himself up carefully to avoid the broken glass.
The boat tilted left to right adding to Ryan's drunk, wandering vision. Rain pounded the yacht and water soaked the flooring. Every step Ryan took lead to a splash onto his already soiled flip-flops. Ryan wondered to the edge of the yacht, moaning and grunting in a drunken rage. He had begun to dry heave over the edge, drowned by the smell of rising salt from the ocean.
It could have been that Ryan was drunk to the point of no return, or maybe the dark horizon line was playing with his eyes. Perhaps he had gotten his own throw up in his pupils. It is up to the reader's intuition but Ryan had spotted something in the water. A shadow with a yellow glare at the top. A mast of swarming, what seemed to be lines from it's center. The shadows moved in unpredictable patterns. They swayed against the wind, something the yacht wasn't even able to accomplish. The yellow tint in the figure's top was raging and intimidating. It left Ryan with a sense of unease and paranoia.
That is when a beautiful set of chords from a piano rang through Ryan's ears. It was as if the water and storm had gone mute. The chords played slowly. One every few seconds, as if taking turns fading away. It brought a weight to Ryan's legs. The sound of a caring bird, taking care of it's young chicks in the nest. As each note played, one of the chicks fell from the nest, down the tree to the yard 20 feet below. The mother in silence and not moving a muscle. Then it all went silent as Ryan fell to the yacht floor….