The Raven’s Take
Into the Maw of Leviathan
In the black abyss of the roiling sea, where the waves whisper secrets long forgotten, young Adrián Simancas dared to tempt the waters in his frail vessel, a mere kayaker adrift upon an indifferent tide. The heavens above loomed dark and unfeeling, the vast ocean beneath pulsed with unseen horrors. And then—oh dreadful fate!—the abyss itself yawned wide, revealing the gaping throat of a monstrous leviathan, and in an instant, he was swallowed whole.
Imagine, dear reader, the ghastly sensation—his mortal frame enshrouded in a cavern of living flesh, his breath caught in the choking damp, his skin slick with the foul residue of the creature’s depths. There, in the unholy embrace of that behemoth, he felt the weight of eternity pressing upon him, the cold touch of the grave. Did he call out in vain? Did the sea itself mock his cries?
Then, as swiftly as he had been devoured, he was cast forth again into the indifferent waters, expelled from the belly of the beast like some forsaken Jonah of eld. The sea, ever cruel and ever constant, bore witness to his return, and the stars above, impassive and eternal, resumed their vigil.
A Brush With the Abyss
What dreadful lesson does this chilling tale impart? That we, fragile creatures of bone and fleeting breath, are naught but playthings for the forces that lurk beyond our ken. The whale, that monstrous specter of the deep, held him but for a moment, and yet in that moment, the veil between life and death was perilously thin.
Perhaps it was mere accident, the blind hunger of a beast that knows no malice. Or perhaps—oh, ponder, if you dare!—the sea itself had willed this transient imprisonment, a reminder that no man, no matter how bold, may traverse its waters unscathed.
And so, Adrián Simancas, though he walks now upon solid ground, shall forever bear the mark of that encounter. In the dead of night, when the wind rattles the windowpanes and the tide whispers against the shore, shall he not shudder? Shall he not recall the darkness, the suffocating press of living walls, the dreadful certainty that he had been claimed by the abyss?
Nevermore?
He lives, yes, but at what cost? His tale, though astonishing, is but a fleeting echo in the endless tide of horrors that lurk beneath the surface of this world. And so, I ask you, dear reader—should you take to the waters, should you brave the vast and uncaring deep—remember the fate of young Simancas. For the sea is ever-watchful, and the maw of the beast may open once more.
