The world holds its breath here, out by the docks, out by the empty fishing boats and desolate promenade. The world holds its breath and waits for the tide to surge and fall, surge and fall, surge and bring something onto the pebbled shore that no longer remembers what sunlight feels like against the softer ridges of its fins where fingers used to be before the sea took them.
The sea took more from it than it remembered having and left it perfectly adapted for its lifeless, lightless depths. Still, it knew it had lost and knew it was now somewhere so familiar every fibre of it being ached for a home that hadn't existed in centuries.
The shapes of the fishing boats leaning against wet sand and the silhouettes of sleeping houses struck a chord it didn't know it still had and for the first time in a very long time it began to weep. It was so caught up in nameless grief for times long since passed that it barely noticed the tide slowly ebbing away, stranding it.
The morning would come soon enough and the locals would wonder what strange tides brought such an odd fish to them. Something as small as a newborn with strangely human eyes that stared up at the sky. A look on its face almost akin to awe, if one were so inclined as to personify an animal.
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