The moon shines, three-quarters full from the bottom—so unusually and evidently spherical—casting cescents of shadows on the dunes of the beach. Sitting with his arms around his knees, Eric watches the shiny tide, all too aware that behind him lay thick tropical jungles shielding their contents from the blue-white orbiting search-light. Before him, ten yards down toward the water, the sillouhette of a small boy bounces, occasionally stopping to examine some unknown gem of mystery embedded in the sand. Aside from the receding waves, the night is quiet, even the looming canopy behind him emanating only occasional nightcalls, and most of those pleasant, if not sleepy.

A long time passes in this way, in warm breezes, on this luscious coast; with the pulsing sound of surf and the moon rising higher, until Eric notices that the bay, the edge of it, is far out. The water has receded out to what seems like a hundred yards. In that moment, the calm of the night gives way to an ominous fear; a rare vast and sudden demon. Eric is then on his feet, the balls of which, bare, give no traction as he sprints as hard and as fast as he can toward the boy, who with each breath-stealing stride seems ever farther away. Eric cannot find his breath, though he thinks he is heaving, he feels fleet, as though breathing were unnecessary. Before he knows it he is on top of the little boy, who has lifted up above his shadowed face, the offering of a wet starfish. Eric looks around to see that the jungle has been reduced to a black jagged ribbon beneath the stars and that the shore is littered with the refuse of suddenly suffocating creatures.

The the roar comes. It is faint at first, just a rush of air, and though he has never heard it before, hi knows what it is just by the way it twists his insides with fear. He hefts te boy, who is confounded, complaining and squirning, being taken away from this rare paradise of the ocean’s bottom. With the extra 80 pounds Eric’s feet sink deep into the ocean soaked sand and running is near impossible. Still, he pressesas hard an fast as he ever has in his life, each step a desperate lengthening of the number of minutes… seconds…?—of what must surely be his death. He can make out elements of the canopy of the jungle and a sudden errant thought levers itself into the panic and terror How can I see without my glasses?

But no matter, he can hear the boy, looking over his shoudler, carried now, screaming now, though moment by moment, the child is drowned out by the onrushing thousand tons of salt water. This is it. The Indian Ocean has buckled and now it will reach out with a thick and wavy hand to slap and crush Eric, and then drag him away; vanish him in the measure of death and evidence.

As the roar comes upon them, Eric stumbles and closes his eyes and gasps for air and sits up in his seat on the train.

Read the whole thread: Tsunami

Characters and Places: boy, Eric Tufts, tidal wave beach, tsumnami, weather