When I was seven years old, papa told me a story of a boy who lived by the sea. Everyday he would go and sit at the docks and stare out into the ocean as if he were waiting for someone to pick him up. People would approach him for polite conversation but he would never respond. He just sat and watched as the sun went down everyday. Then at around eleven each night, he would stand up and slowly walk back home.
One day, on a stormy October evening, the boy fell into the water and drowned. One fisherman claims to have seen something come out of the water and grab the little boy by the leg, leading him to his death. I remember asking papa how he knew the boy was dead. He stared at me for a few seconds before letting out his mighty laugh. "Little tulip, how could a boy possibly overcome a raging sea?"
-written by me long ago