The Rotten Ballad

Rib by Rib, they dredge out of the ocean, they do. Tail after Tail, Head after Head. They squirm with a tumultuous tune, flopping like Organs. I shudder. They don’t notice. Spilling out of the net, into the rimed tubs flowing with brine. I spot black rot curdling in a few of them, spiralling in intricate, disgusting patterns. I turn, but they still stare, probing at my Eyes, prodding for my Soul, poking for a response. I walk back into the cabin, where they can’t reach me. My uncle sits idle at the helm, talking to my cousin, tapping his Foot.

“Been rough lately, hasn’t it?” My uncle asks, absentmindedly.

“I guess.” My cousin spins around in his chair. “Feels weirder than the normal dips we get.”

“You got any ideas what it could be?” He asks, before I can say anything. He turns to face part of me. “Amelia?”

“I…”  I grab an orange bottle, half filled with immunosuppressants. “Maybe it’s the weather?”

“Dunno. Might just be my imagination.” My cousin closes off the conversation. “We’ll be alright. Mom won’t be happy, but… she never is.”

I gulp down a few pills and venture back outside as my uncle opens his Mouth to chastise my cousin. On the stern, my other cousin pulls up another net of sardines. She turns her Head and smiles, if only for a moment. The net unfurls, producing another, smaller, load of fish that seem to have more and more of a pitchy mold, a grotesque and tortuous growth that bursts at the seams and eats away at their Skin, their Flesh, their Mind. A tremor shakes me down and forces a gust of wind at my Body. They slide into the icy tubs once again, a gurgling forcing its way up the pile. 

I lean over the tubs, and stare into the bubbling Eye of the silver hurricane, against my better judgement. The fish refuse to stare back. I close my Eyes, a bittersweet darkness, and breathe in a cold ocean breeze swindled with salty acrimony. My cousin leans over on one Foot, a curious but unconcerned look enveloping her Face. 

“You good?” She asks, holding onto a rope. 

“Just… my Heart.” I respond, clutching it, as it beat almost erratically, galloping. “The medication, and being on the sea is making me a bit sick. I’ll be okay.” 

“Whatever you say.” She twirls herself about the rope, landing back on her Feet. The trawl lowers back into the dark ocean, and she takes the chance to peer around the horizon. Grey splatter taints the livid skyscape, a few squawks reminds us of the no-longer-visible coast. 

The Heart slows. 

She breaks the silence. 

“Is it… hard? To live like that?” She gestures at my Sternum.

“Oh.” I look down, a pang dropping down my throat and hovering above my stomach. “I guess.”

Guesswork was all I had. I couldn’t imagine the Heart just there, beating along like nothing had happened. I could feel the fish, the animals, judging me, cursing me, undulating their Fins in indignant rage, screaming You did this. Another trawl from the slowly blackening ocean lifted, bringing even fewer fish than before. The little it brought was littered with more rot, fry coated in obsidian blackness, some missing half of themselves. Their blight, almost intentional in nature, carved lines and stitching across their bodies. Their Pupils, eaten away at, darted rapidly, searching for a victim. I cowered, turning my Back, shying my Face. My uncle emerges from the cabin, stretching loudly and sauntering about the deck. 

“Woah.” His Body retracts into its natural state and his Eyes widen, “That’s a small load. You sure we’re going deep enough?”

“The net goes the same depth every time.” Her Eyes roll.

“Let me try this,” He takes over the rope, tugging on it and bleeding out the fish into the brined tubs. He, with a deft expertise, grabs the grimy net and spins it out, the fabric unfurling and casting stragglers back into the gloomy, flowing desert of an ocean. 

“Let your old man show you how it’s done.” He smirks, his Eye twitching. Kicking up a chair, he plops down and leans back, his Belly hanging out and expression smug. 

Pearls of nothingness pass. Footsteps pass over the metal boarding, weight shifting, pacing back and forth. 

An impatient tapping ceases, and my Uncle begins to pull on a thin, black rope.

Silence hangs in the air, dancing alongside a quiet discipline that continues to pull the rope. An uneasiness rests itself on my shoulders, creeping into my Ears, whispers that climb out of the ocean and twist at puppet strings. The Heart breaks the silence with a thick pounding, a low gong that reverberates throughout the boat. Each slam breaks down my Ribs, chokes up my Lungs, twirls at my Stomach. Murmurs surround me, sizing me up, kissing every Vertebrae. Yours… They prick at my Shoulders. Not… Yours… I twitch, Hairs standing like missiles in silos, sweat slick and dripping icicles down my Back. 

A pair of Eyes stare deep past the darkening water and into a curiosity, dissecting the possibilities of what could lie under. He shakes his Head and raises his Arms to pull the net up, grasping them with a firm certainty. A tug, but the rope refuses to budge. He steps back in shock, then a grin appears across his Face. 

“Told you your old man’s still got it!” He positions himself under the pulley, propping a Foot onto a nearby surface. Gripping with purpose, baring his Teeth, he heaves steam out the corners of his Mouth and tugs with an unyielding determination. Both my cousins fold in behind him and grab loose ends of the rope, gesturing for me to join in. I steady myself, muffling the cacophony inside me. The rough texture of the rope claw at my Hands, gritting away at my Skin. I breathe in to brace, and yank. 

My Lungs fill with a terrible air; a sharp, cold wake that coursed its way down my Throat, spilling down as soot. I step back, releasing the rope, and realize my Hands are covered in the same blackness. The rope rots away in front of me, molting into dark dust, but my cousins barely seem to notice. They continue to heave and pull the net up, taking in honed breaths and feet planted down like landmines. 

I collapse onto the floor, folding in on myself, sputtering out rapid coughs, tears forcing their way out of my Eyes. Each cough spits out another cloud of smoke, covering the deck. My Ears ring with a rapid throbbing that drowns out every other sound. Smothered by my own senses, I blink rapidly and take a deep breath, grasping and begging for clear air. I manage to prop myself up by my Arms, Knees bent. 

I close my Eyes and Mind, slow my breathing, and place a hand over the Heart for the first time since the operation. It responds with a gurgling, a bubbling resonance from somewhere deep below. A thrashing, almost. A fight. It startles me, but I am not surprised. With every beat, it gets closer and closer. Surfacing.

The net rises above the water, awash with the dark sea. I hear it before I see it, a crashing of water and the bubbling and dripping of it all. But with it, an otherworldly pulse. I hear it with the clapping of Fins, the deep warbling of air escaping from a trap, and the bellow of the sea’s song. Another pulse. The sounds grow louder as the net is moved over our boat. Every pulse brings another crash of water, spilling all over the deck. The smell punctures a hole in my Sinuses, a putrid mix of decomposing seaweed and salty sea creatures. Then, a familiar whisper, ten thousand octaves lower. Yours….. I freeze up again, unwilling to open my eyes. Not. Yours.

And then it is there. A gossamer net enfolding a monstrous amalgamation of the sea’s deepest, each reaching out and trying to hold onto something that they lost long ago. Tentacles from piebald squids slap against squirming Tails of eels, anglerfish Mouths gnawing on nautilus Shells. Isopods scuttle around, looking for crumbled segments of their own home. Disfigured sharks try to swim in an ocean of Flesh with Fins they do not have. Bright lights decorate the coagulation, flashing bioluminescence their only introduction to what they face now. Black rot drips over the blob of barely-life, consuming a part of every organism. The mass continues to pulse with a rhythmic pattern, spreading the rot every time it does so. And surrounding it all, a spiraling oarfish whose body circles the entire net ten times over, and head hangs down at the bottom, a figurehead. 

Smaller fish and crabs fall through loosening holes and splatter on the ground, some surviving and scurrying away. The shifting weight of the delicate meshwork begins to spin, the Head of the oarfish slowly turning to face me. Strings and rope begin to snap, lowering the conglomerate of ocean bodies, the hanging Neck of the oarfish now at my Eye level. As it continues to spin, the Head convulses, hacking, spitting out a dark fluid that burns away at the floor when it touches. I want to move, but I cannot. My Arms remain still and my legs stone at the base. I want to hear the Heart beating, but I cannot. The monster across the boat beats for me. I want to go back to when I was still hoping and when she was still alive, but I cannot. Instead, tears well and I must beat with her heart.

“You should have left me on the dock!” I cried out. Nobody responds. “You should have never let me come!” Again, no human voice returns my calls. The oarfish continues to turn. 

“You should have never prayed for me!” A sting as I remember cold Hands on mine.

“You should have given up!” I try to sniffle, but my Nose is clear.

“I should have given up. Never prayed. I should have… I should have died.” The tears stop. I try to remember her Face, but I never even saw it. I try to recall her voice, but I only knew her sleeping. Heavy knots sink themselves in my chest.

The rotting face of the oarfish finally reaches me. Eyes wide and kind, Mouth agape and clutching a beating, putrefying heart, whispering. Yours. The heart pulses loudly, leaking blackness and a faint sound: Not. The serpent hacks again, choking on something invisible. With a final cough, it spits the heart out in a flood of black sludge. It cascades out, flying in ornate figures and decorating the floor with harsh lines and byzantine scars.

In the midst of the viscous rot encircling me, a myriad of memories start breaking out of my Mind. I recall the sounds of the hospital, and its musty smell that corrupted my Lungs. I recall the everyday crying, the pleading, and the happiness of moving up the list. I recall the clasping of hands and rosary beads that wished for more death. I recall agreeing with them. And then I see what I could never remember. 

I see her nodding, eyes bright. I see her signing documents, with her family’s solemn faces around her. I see her talking to them, explaining. I see her talking to doctors, once again with those tender eyes.

The rope holding the net up snaps, and everything unravels. The hideous heap of creatures collapse onto the deck, filling the brined buckets and flowing back into the ocean, littering the ground with organs and covering the boat with a repulsive smell, and washing away the black filth. The massive oarfish, now fully stretched, leaps into a wave and dissolves into black effervescence.

My heart slows down, my breathing calms, and my limbs come back to me. I still can’t remember her face, or her voice, or anything about her. But I feel our heartbeat. Fueling my every breath, pushing me off the ground, taking every step. The sun shines across the sea again, lighting it aflame with vibrant color. I feel the heat on my skin, coursing with warm blood. The putrid smell bakes in the sunlight, bringing a new vividness to the boat. My uncle and cousins wrinkle their noses and begin to clean up the mess. I walk into the cabin and sit down, laying my chin onto crossed arms. A newspaper, half-read, splays disheveled on the table. Massive Oil Spill Threatens Marine Ecosystems: Who will be held responsible? My eyes glaze over, ignoring the rest of the page. Hand over heart, I begin to live for the first time.