Heartless Storm

Despite what people will try to tell you, life and nature are not human.

That may sound like that goes without saying, but let me explain.

Life and nature are not singular beings, they're concepts: categories we use to define something surrounding us. They don't have a will; they don't have feelings. And they can’t care. It’s why I hold nothing against them; there isn't a "them" to be had.

I always explain this to fellow passengers on the ship. Strange storms are popping up in several locations, contradicting reports time and time again, to the point of almost making them worthless to listen to. Of course, I'm not referring to people who condemn the meteorologists for incompetence. I'm referring to the sympathetic.

"It's just bad luck." They said, "Life loves to throw curveballs at people."

That, or: "You know how nature is: It always throws a random fit."

I paraphrase, but I'm sure you understand my meaning.

It’s safe to say I have an interest in this science. I wouldn't be as passionate otherwise. I've gotten the barometers, thermometers, and even the gauge that measures the wind speed I can't remember the name of.

And when I say "Strange" storms, I meant it.

It's always the same type of storm: Incredibly harsh thunderstorm, with just enough temperature overlap to create a hurricane. It's shocking to see how flippant people are, but I can see how. They're too far away to see the genuine horror of this. Hurricanes are popping up beyond the belt they form in. The storms could show up anywhere with just enough water.

Which is why I was having a massive panic attack on a cruise ship. I've haven’t figured out how to not overthink.

While trying to calm down, to no avail, the lights went out. I get jostled out of my seat from a powerful force. I stood up, dusting myself off and left my cabin. It was pouring outside. Thunder cracked in the distance. People were opting to stay inside their cabins. I should do the same.

Then there was a sound. It sounded like more thunder. But there wasn't any lightning. It wasn't people; wasn't the waves crashing against metal; it wasn't the ship—

Wait, the ship. I hadn't noticed how quiet it was for a sailing ship. It's still, too still.

The ship is not moving.

Thunder cracked as lightning snapped at the sea two yards away. There was a chance it was one of those strange storms. I will not risk being above deck. I need to get below. Will that work? I didn't care.

I grabbed my one luggage, opened the door, and moved outside. Where would the passage to the lower deck be—

I rushed back into my cabin. I saw something. It was leaving another cabin. It's not a person, it's not a person, it's not a person—

With little thinking, I dove beneath my desk and moved my luggage in front of it. I prayed to whatever god is listening, especially the big G himself, to keep me safe. In my haste, I didn't shut the door. I could hear it walking closer. Hard, hollow steps against the boards grew louder. Something audibly large and heavy got closer to my door. Did it see me?

I didn't want it to answer me, but it seemed like it did. It stopped right by my door. Lightning flashes, and it did nothing to tell me about what it looked like, other than it was huge.

The hard steps went from wood to carpet as this thing entered my cabin. There's a faint yellow light coming from the top half of this thing. Its lanky legs looked normal compared to its hind legs; they were just three separate pieces each. Pieces of the ceiling dropped to the floor from the thing scraping it as it moved. It was dragging heaps of feathers and something else across the floor.

I tried my best to stay still as possible. I could hear its breathing as it checked my desk. How was it rummaging through the desk? I could vaguely feel and smell its acrid breath. Where is its mouth?

One of its front legs revealed itself to be an arm when it opened all the drawers it could reach. This thing stopped. It pulled out a folded piece of paper and lifted it up to some other part of the body. It opened the paper up. With a grunt, the thing moved away from the desk and turned to leave. Here, I could see the other thing dragging across the floor was a hooked tail, cutting through the carpet.

The tail somehow catches itself on my luggage, tearing it open. The thing grumbled as it pulled it off my bag with a bulkier arm. I realize the light source was its eyes on its shoulder. I think it looked directly at me.

That was the last thing I remembered before I fainted.

The first thing to greet me wasn't the search and rescue lady, but some booming sound — possibly thunder that left my ears ringing. It took a minute to regain my hearing, just to hear what they were shouting over the storm. I had to have people fill me in later to understand.

"It blew up the engine! How did it find the engine room? How did it blow it up?"

It was when I got the context that I figured out what it was doing. The paper it took?

It was a passenger's map to the ship.

And I didn't stop it from getting the map.

Life and nature are not human. They're simply categories. They wouldn't care about us. There isn't any form of will; no form of feeling, no form of personhood to be had.

That thing, though? It can think, it can feel. I know it saw me, and yet it spared me. Only to try blowing me up with everyone else later.

If that thing felt anything, it was contempt.