The Ocean by Platon Lobach

The rain poured on the tired and cold streets for three days straight.

It was wild out there, nobody even wanted to go out of their house - such bad weather it was. And even worse it was in the country. Roads filled with mud and rainwater, fallen trees, and downed power lines. That weather was not suitable for hunting. He knew that. And still he went hunting. And he wasn't coming back empty-handed.

She tried not to shiver. But she was shivering. Her thin jacket was soaked wet; water was dripping from her sand-coloured hair, leaving little drops on her face. Her player got wet too, but it didn't stop Jimmy Hendrick's voice from creaking through her headphones.

- It's dangerous out there.

- I have a gun.

- As well as I do, - he pointed to the backseat, where his shiny rifle was lying, waiting to bring death to another creature, like it did hundreds of times before. - And mine's bigger.

She didn't answer.

- Don't worry, it's just a hunting rifle. It's not for people.

- I wasn't worrying. I don't care.

- What a nihilistic little brat you are. So where are you going?

- Wherever you take me would be just fine. I'm not going anywhere in particular.

- This isn't possible.

- Why's that?

- Everybody goes somewhere. I, for myself, am going home. And you, I suppose, are going in the opposite direction.

- I'm going to the ocean.

- The ocean? Which one?

- All of them. They're all connected, you know, so that's basically one and the same ocean.

- I don't see no ocean round this parts. The mud puddle yonder on the road would be closest to your goal. Should I drop you there?

- Just shut up already, okay?

- I won't. My radio's broken, so you'll have to entertain me.

- I won't.

- What's your name?

- That's none of your business.

- I'm Karl, Karl Jasperson.

- Rita.

- What a weird name.

- It's not. It's a beautiful name. My mother liked it.

- She doesn't like it no more?

She didn't answer. She looked sad. They stayed silent for a couple of minutes. The silence was creeping around his neck and squeezing him in the paws of discomfort. He decided to break it.

- So, why the ocean?

- Because nobody would catch me there. I would jump on a sailboat and hide somewhere in the cabin. And when it sets sail, they will have no other choice but to keep me on board. And then nobody would catch me.

- So, according to you, there are no fishing boats in the ocean?

- What? That was not what I was saying at all.

- You said that nobody could catch you if you were living in the ocean. Fish also live in the ocean. So you wanna say that nobody can catch them, too?

- I'm not a fish.

- Considering your current state, I would say otherwise, - she was still soaked to the bone.

- Shut up.

- What if that were a pirate ship?

- Pirates don't exist.

- What about sharks?

- I have a gun.

- As well as I did. When I was at the sea, you know. It didn't save me from this, - he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, showing a grand scar on his forearm. It resembled a star. Distorted, ugly star exploding. It was so deep that half of his shoulder seemed missing.

- You were bitten by a shark?

- No. No shark bites like a human does.

- I know that myself.

- You don’t know nothing, kiddo.

- Shut up. If I don’t have a scar on my shoulder, it doesn’t mean that I wasn't hurt. 

- Whatever you say. 

- Stop it here. I’ll go to Zurich on foot. 

- Okay. - he stopped the car.

- Hey, wait. I didn’t mean that. How do you think I'm supposed to go through all this rain?

- If you didn’t mean that, then why’d you say that? 

- Stop asking stupid questions. What is your problem? Why can’t you just bring me where I asked you without any disturbing questions? Do you think that if you’re so old and lost your damn arm somewhere, you know everything? You don’t know nothing.

She went out of the car, slamming the door behind her. 

- Hey, wait. It’s cold out there. 

- I don’t care. I don’t need your help old man. I can get to the ocean myself. If you think that I can’t, it’s only because of your damn arm and sharks and your stupid hunting rifle and because you think that you know everything.

- Okay. Whatever you say, kiddo, whatever you say. I hope you have a fishing rod. It’s hard to find something to eat at the ocean, - said the old man, driving off in the rain.

Puddles of rain were becoming bigger and bigger, the night drew nearer, it started getting cold. The grey clouds constantly moving in the grand space of the sky started resembling the sharks more and more. But every storm comes to an end. And all the sharks die someday.