In the deeps, Leviathan turns. Oceans tremble in their beds and unseen creatures skirl in his wake, while the bones of ships and sailors’ ghosts huddle uneasily in their cold and lightless graves, muttering, “this, too, shall pass…”

From the depths, Leviathan roars. Mountains of water fly to the shores, rushing to escape his wrath, while continents shudder beneath his punishing blows. Mysteries long hidden under layers of silted sand lay exposed, naked artifacts of an earlier age clinging to their secrets even as they bleach bone white in the rediscovered sunlight.

In the silence, the world holds its breath, stillness broken only by pounding hearts straining in anticipation of their coming doom.

In the silence

Leviathan smiles…


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2 Responses to Bathtime

  1. DH says:

    I like the imagery. One one hand, it reminds me of Bradbury’s story The Fog Horn. On the gripping hand, it is also vaguely Lovecraftian, ominous and cyclopean….

  2. julie says:

    I hadn’t thought of the Foghorn, but you’re right. Also, with the title, I thought a bit Calvin & Hobbesian 🙂

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