After a long day, Philo trudged to the shore yet again clasping the neck to a bottle of dark wine. He often retreated to the water's shoreline to clear his mind from the many worries ravaging it: his impending divorce, the overdue medical bills, his son's school suspension, and the failing fishing company on the brink of letting him go.

"These problems just never end," He muttered. "All I want is a break. Is that too much to ask for?"

The gritty, wet sand mushed between his toes with each step. Philo didn't even bother to change out of his dirty work clothes. He plopped down onto the wooden deck and let his stubby legs dangle. The waves rolled over as the insects hummed their nightly song.

He lifted the bottle toward his lips, popped the cork off, and guzzled it down his throat. Philo raised the bottle as if he had scored a point over his worries.

Take that, universe!

The weight of the bottle yanked him toward the water. He fell forward into a small, weak rowboat right underneath the deck. He examined his large, callused hands in the silver of moonlight. His arms and legs were sunburnt beyond repair from years of working out on the sea.

The boat bounced on the water's edge and cradled his body, swaying gently back and forth. He groaned as he hugged the bottle tighter to his heart.

"You'll never leave me... right? You'll... always..." He blubbered, unable to stop a waterfall of tears from rushing out. He wept bitterly as the rope tied to the anchor silently snapped, drifting the boat into the open ocean.

A clear, starry sky soon morphed into a dark, cloudy sky with wild flickering lights.

I've been a good person. So why is this happening to me?

The wind increased against the ocean waves. Philo slowly sat up and squinted his eyes against the flying water droplets.

What the... The weather was just fine a second ago...

The fisherman braced himself as a large gust of wind hurled toward him. He was thrown backwards making the boat rock violently. The water beneath him trembled and illuminated a bright glowing blue.

Amid the chaos, he heard a soft, sultry voice calling out to him. He felt drawn to the strange song. A large woman raised out of the sea. He reached out his tattooed arm, trying to grasp for her, but she was just out of reach. Her messy glimmering curls were lengthy, but drenched, and her skin glowed brightly. She smiled maliciously with a row of teeth like little white daggers. Her eyes were unworldly with long black specks circling inside. Full of souls and lifeless at the same time.

He was captivated.

Philo's head absent-mindedly followed as she floated above him. Waves appeared behind him; heightening dangerously with every passing second. He nervously gripped the sides of the rowboat, splinters digging into his tough hands. Vicious waves hurled him out of the boat into the freezing ocean. He bobbed his head above the surface, spotting his bottle floating a few feet away. He swiped madly at it, flicking beads of water into the air. In the corner of his eyes, lightning blasted the boat into thousands of pieces. His heartbeat quickened anxiously. That could've been me.

The bottle exploded next. The glass shot like mini bullets with a large chunk slashing the underside of his arm.

Something forced him under the water. He couldn't move. Philo sank with outstretched arms and watched with bleary eyesight the pieces of the little rowboat floating on the surface. His lungs tightened and burned as he fought to hold his breath. His eyelids felt so heavy. He was slipping. His head started to droop, and his vision gradually blacked out.

***

A lone siren alarm sounded off in the near distance as Philo smacked his dry, morning lips and fluttered his eyes awake. He groaned feeling sick to his stomach while his head stung like a bunch of tiny bees attacking him at once. His heart jumped in alarm when he saw the rolling of the waves and not the regular confines of his bedroom.

"Oh no, no, no," Philo said. "I must've fallen asleep here last night. I'm gonna be late for work again."

Great going, you idiot. A midnight drink by the shore?

An all too familiar twang of pain squeezed his head. Thoughts raced through his head, determined to win first place, scrambling his mind in the progress. He recalled blue lightning and rough winds.

Probably just the alcohol talking.

The gritty particles of sand prickled his skin. A sharp, pungent smell suddenly irritated his nose causing his hand to fly over his nose.

What is that? Is it me or--

His eyes widened and he froze. The beach was covered in fish everywhere. Hundreds of dead fish surrounded him.

This isn't real. It isn't.

He sprang up and tried to balance his wobbly legs. His breaths were shallow and short. His vision darkened again as his eyes rolled back and his body shut down.

***

He awoke to his manager towering above him repeating his name. Jeff wore a floral shirt and khaki pants. He had bushy black eyebrows, slicked back hair and light wrinkles outlining his face.

"Jeff," Philo croaked, glancing around. He was in a familiar hospital room with the ocean view window, the small brown table, and its lonely chair. Shiny white floors and a permanent smell of artificial roses.

He cleared his dry throat only to be reminded of his unkempt state: his ratty black T-shirt and dirt-caked shorts. His unbrushed, yellowed teeth. Simply put, he was an ugly mess.

Jeff's head snapped back. "Phil, you're awake. Look, I'll make this quick. I'm not gonna fire ya after all."

Philo held his breath. "Really?"

"Someone told me they saw ya lying with the fishes, so I ran all the way here, "Jeff said, chuckling lightly. "I don't know how you did it, but you might've done saved the business."

Jeff patted him heartily on the back before leaving. "Consider yourself promoted."

A smile crept onto Philo's face, but the feeling didn't last long. His head throbbed again, but this time more fiercely. Multiple images seared into his memory. A large blue, iridescent tail with sparkling scales. A woman's soothing voice. Shards of the rowboat floating. Her sinful yet alluring smile.

She's beautiful. He shook himself out of it. It's just nonsense, but one heck of a dream.

His nurse, Tadar, walked into the room with a tray of breakfast. He was a young, freckled, lanky man with blonde curly hair. New to the medicine field.

"Philo, how're you doing?"

"Hey, man," Philo said. "Just peachy."

Tadar placed the tray of food on the table beside the bed. "I know you love visiting me, but you've got to take better care of yourself. You know you're not getting any younger, right?"

Philo scoffed. "Tadar, you've gotta hear about this dream I had—this beautiful woman from the ocean--"

Tadar froze. "The ocean? Don't tell me you've been drinking again."

Philo avoided his eyes. "I can't help it, T. It's the only thing that makes me not feel like... like a huge loser."

"I get it, but you've got to find a less destructive hobby. You know, like painting, salsa dancing, or even--"

Philo's head plunged into a deep darkness. His neural insides were being torn piece by piece and he suddenly remembered everything clearly. Each picture flashed through his head. Each more intense than the first. He cried out in pain.

Lightning. His boat exploding into a hundred pieces. Trapped in a whirlwind. Water filling his lungs. Her cackles. The wine bottle floating away. The cut slashed on his arm. Flying fish. Thunder. A longing.

"Philo," Tadar grabbed his shoulders. "Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

Philo slowly turned over his shaking arm revealing the massive cut on his arm.

His eyes suddenly turned cold. "It wasn't a dream. She... She's real." He whispered.

Tadar's eyes flickered left and right as he searched his face for answers. "What? What are you talking about?"

"The woman from the ocean," He ripped the gingham blanket off his legs and sat up. "I- I have to see her again."

She could be the key to fixing everything.

Tadar ran with his arms outstretched and blocked the door. "You're not ready to be discharged yet."

Philo narrowed his eyes. His mind was already set and there was no changing it. "That's not for you to decide anymore."

He didn't know why or how, but he needed to find her. Even if she almost ended up taking his life, he needed to know why.

Whatever the cost.