Hey Guys! This is my first fanfiction, and I, like those before me, hope
you enjoy it. Don't judge it before you get too far. As in Miyamoto's great
game, everything is not as it seems. It takes place after the Wind Waker,
on that bland, dreary shore known as Great Bay. I am depressed, little
knowing that that will soon change...
It was early afternoon, and the veil of clouds that shadowed the wild sea had not yet disappeared from the horizon. My boots sunk into the damp, grey sand as I stared into space, my late mother's dog accompanying me. He was not as depressed as I was, for his tail was wagging a mile a minute, and every once in a while, he had a chat with the seagulls, growling and whimpering.
"Daystar, I really can't see how you can be so happy. She's dead, you know." I was referring, of course, to my mother, whose death was the cause of my sadness: not that the dreary weather made things better. Daystar looked up at me and growled. I rolled my eyes and left him to his romping in the sand.
I took off along the shore, not caring whether or not I got lost, or lived, or died. Life was a holy terror in my mind. Why live it, if it was simply a series of disappointments?
How wrong I was!
I climbed down some rocks, which were as grey as anything out here, and approached a series of tide pools, finding a small nook near the water to sit and fume. My resentment toward everything was astounding.
After my mother died, my brother, Ramón began to be eaten away with grief as I had, but he learned that smoking could solve these terrors temporarily. My father had spent many an hour at the local bar, returning grumpy and unpredictable. My hatred was aimed toward the sea. My mother had been doing something completely decent, and the stormy anger of the waves smashed her dingy against a stone.
Indignantly, I threw a stone at a tide pool. Satisfied with the splash, my concentration strayed, and I noticed a silhouette on the horizon.
A sea monster.
Its horned head and neck rose up just beyond the shore of another tide pool, and its gilded eyes focused on me sternly. Trembling, I drew one of my ivory pistols, which was loaded with silver bullets (meant for werewolves), aimed, and shot at it. It didn't die. It didn't roar with anger either. Huh? I thought.
Summoning all my courage, I climbed to the ledge it rested on. "Hey, you!" I shouted. "You want a piece of me?" I was ten feet away from it, and it ignored me. I shortened that to two yards. "HEY, YOU!" I yelled again, followed with a bang from my gun.
Nothing.
I neared it. Its head stuck not from water, but from sand. One of its long, curved horns was broken in half, and it was at that moment I realized that I'd been baited like Briar Rabbit to the Tar Baby. The behemoth was carved from wood. I felt so stupid. The seagulls seemed to laugh at me as they dipped and soared.
"Ahhh. Go suck a fish, or whatever you stupid birds do!" I grumbled, sinking to the ground. I spotted something stranger nearest the water. A broken mast, with tatters of dirtied sail... And the hull of a wrecked sailboat, painted the same bright scarlet as the sea monster's head. I realized that I had stumbled upon a shipwreck. The sea beast must've been the prow. Crawling on my hands and knees, I neared the broken hull, wondering if there was anything of value inside. The moment I poked my head in, I knew in my bones that I'd come across something special. At the time, though, I didn't feel that my bones were accurate.
Right in the belly of the ship, there was a boy.
And not your ordinary boy, either, at least not in Boulviddar. There was something in the way he lay so limply that reminded you of a marionette, a toy, with all the magic of potential. Little did I know that this surreal creature was the greatest treasure ever created. He was skinny, unlike the boys back in town, though clad in a green tunic so baggy, his true structure was uncertain. His hair, part of which obscured from view with a triangular green hat, was as yellow as straw, another contrast to the Boulviddarian black, and his face was delicate, yet angular. Poking from beneath that unkempt hair, he had two long, pointed ears.
Stuff of fairy tales!!! Thought I, wide-eyed. And he wasn't dead either, by the looks of it. His chest rose and fell with labored breathing, and I cursed the sea for doing this to him. "Boy? Are you... all right?" I said gently, placing a hand on his chest. His tunic was damp, the cloth thick and woven. He groaned.
I, being a student of potion-making, took my canteen of precious fresh water from my hip. My hat's brim was lined with various fishing hooks, and on each hook, a vial of a magical substance hung. I chose several of them and dumped them in my water, creating a revival potion that steamed your heart and simmered in your belly. Carefully, without spilling a drop, I snuck this through the ribs of the boat and up to his lips.
It was at the moment he awakened that the sun peered through the clouds.
It was early afternoon, and the veil of clouds that shadowed the wild sea had not yet disappeared from the horizon. My boots sunk into the damp, grey sand as I stared into space, my late mother's dog accompanying me. He was not as depressed as I was, for his tail was wagging a mile a minute, and every once in a while, he had a chat with the seagulls, growling and whimpering.
"Daystar, I really can't see how you can be so happy. She's dead, you know." I was referring, of course, to my mother, whose death was the cause of my sadness: not that the dreary weather made things better. Daystar looked up at me and growled. I rolled my eyes and left him to his romping in the sand.
I took off along the shore, not caring whether or not I got lost, or lived, or died. Life was a holy terror in my mind. Why live it, if it was simply a series of disappointments?
How wrong I was!
I climbed down some rocks, which were as grey as anything out here, and approached a series of tide pools, finding a small nook near the water to sit and fume. My resentment toward everything was astounding.
After my mother died, my brother, Ramón began to be eaten away with grief as I had, but he learned that smoking could solve these terrors temporarily. My father had spent many an hour at the local bar, returning grumpy and unpredictable. My hatred was aimed toward the sea. My mother had been doing something completely decent, and the stormy anger of the waves smashed her dingy against a stone.
Indignantly, I threw a stone at a tide pool. Satisfied with the splash, my concentration strayed, and I noticed a silhouette on the horizon.
A sea monster.
Its horned head and neck rose up just beyond the shore of another tide pool, and its gilded eyes focused on me sternly. Trembling, I drew one of my ivory pistols, which was loaded with silver bullets (meant for werewolves), aimed, and shot at it. It didn't die. It didn't roar with anger either. Huh? I thought.
Summoning all my courage, I climbed to the ledge it rested on. "Hey, you!" I shouted. "You want a piece of me?" I was ten feet away from it, and it ignored me. I shortened that to two yards. "HEY, YOU!" I yelled again, followed with a bang from my gun.
Nothing.
I neared it. Its head stuck not from water, but from sand. One of its long, curved horns was broken in half, and it was at that moment I realized that I'd been baited like Briar Rabbit to the Tar Baby. The behemoth was carved from wood. I felt so stupid. The seagulls seemed to laugh at me as they dipped and soared.
"Ahhh. Go suck a fish, or whatever you stupid birds do!" I grumbled, sinking to the ground. I spotted something stranger nearest the water. A broken mast, with tatters of dirtied sail... And the hull of a wrecked sailboat, painted the same bright scarlet as the sea monster's head. I realized that I had stumbled upon a shipwreck. The sea beast must've been the prow. Crawling on my hands and knees, I neared the broken hull, wondering if there was anything of value inside. The moment I poked my head in, I knew in my bones that I'd come across something special. At the time, though, I didn't feel that my bones were accurate.
Right in the belly of the ship, there was a boy.
And not your ordinary boy, either, at least not in Boulviddar. There was something in the way he lay so limply that reminded you of a marionette, a toy, with all the magic of potential. Little did I know that this surreal creature was the greatest treasure ever created. He was skinny, unlike the boys back in town, though clad in a green tunic so baggy, his true structure was uncertain. His hair, part of which obscured from view with a triangular green hat, was as yellow as straw, another contrast to the Boulviddarian black, and his face was delicate, yet angular. Poking from beneath that unkempt hair, he had two long, pointed ears.
Stuff of fairy tales!!! Thought I, wide-eyed. And he wasn't dead either, by the looks of it. His chest rose and fell with labored breathing, and I cursed the sea for doing this to him. "Boy? Are you... all right?" I said gently, placing a hand on his chest. His tunic was damp, the cloth thick and woven. He groaned.
I, being a student of potion-making, took my canteen of precious fresh water from my hip. My hat's brim was lined with various fishing hooks, and on each hook, a vial of a magical substance hung. I chose several of them and dumped them in my water, creating a revival potion that steamed your heart and simmered in your belly. Carefully, without spilling a drop, I snuck this through the ribs of the boat and up to his lips.
It was at the moment he awakened that the sun peered through the clouds.