Preface
Snap crunch.
Swirls of bubbles.
Slithers of red.
Cries of help.
Cries of fear.
Cries of dying.
Silence of death.
Screams of pain.
Help me.
John Watson woke up from his slumber. He sighed, a stream of bubbles coming from his mouth. He looked out of his window. It was dawn. He rubbed his eyes with his claw. He stretched and yawned. He rose from his bed and walked into the kitchen. He made himself a nice hot cup of algae and walked over to his desk. He opened up the draw and grabbed out his clam, right next to his pistol. He sat down and opened up his clam. Inside lit up, casting shadows over his shell. He stared at the light, and his blog stared back.
The Blog of Dr John H. Watson.
He didn't know where to begin.
"How's the blog coming along?" asked the psychiatrist. The sea snake stared blankly at John. He gripped his dead coral stick.
"It's going…great," he answered.
"You haven't written a single word," the psychiatrist said.
"Yes," John replied.
"John, you're a soldier, you have wounds, and those wounds need time to heal," the psychiatrist said, "Writing down everything that happens to you will be the best thing for you."
"Nothing ever happens to me," John said.