Arista Lai
Hong Kong
2016, Senior, Creative Writing

The unidentified body is slick and black. Just like octopus ink, but harmful.

“Don’t get close,” my mother had warned, an underlying tremor evident in her clicking. “It’s dangerous.”

It really is a special day when even we, the kings of the sea who strike fear into the hearts of all fish and seals and sea-farers, are scared. Are scared of something that looks so harmless. It is not only my mother—it is the entire pod. They do not have much idea of what happens when you touch it either, but they are my pod, so I trust them. Curious though, I circle with no less than a tail’s length between myself and the unidentified body, and I wait. I wait for some stupid, tiny fish to swim across and stumble upon it, so that I can finally understand what it is.

My siblings, knowing their disobedient nature, would have had a field day with this: elaborate games and explanations on its sudden appearance in our waters. I know they would have, were they still here. Some of them swam off without a trace a few days ago. This is not particularly unusual. Many of our pod disappear occasionally, perhaps to join another pod, or simply because they had gotten lost while hunting. Instead of being too worried about my siblings, my thoughts are primarily preoccupied by the unidentified creature.

Is it like me? One of us? I was brought up to believe that we, the killer whales, ruled the oceans; we were the apex predators, and no creature could ever hurt us. Is this thing an apex predator, too? Or, though I hope it certainly is not the case, has it dethroned our majestic species? There should exist no reason for us to be scared, yet I have a feeling it could be that this creature has the power to kill us.

It does look so innocent, though. Almost cute. It is sleek and smooth and black, like my skin, without the white spots. It floats calmly on the surface of the water, shining with an eerie, iridescent glow under the moonlight. It does not seem like a predator, because it only follows, follows the waves, bobbing up and down like a young calf learning to swim. It is alive, I conclude—as each day passes, it grows and grows, spreads and spreads. It even reproduces, populating my pod’s grounds with its spawn.

Every day, as it grows, it leaves us with less space to come up and breathe. Though we live and spend most of our time underwater, we do not have gills like fish, and must rise through the surface of the water for air. This creature, it is trying to take over our territory and limit the freedom we have always had. Usually, when faced with those kinds of threats, we fight the intruders. The problem is, this time we have no power to do anything about it. How do you fight something so alien, so powerful?

***

Four days later, I had just pulled off my best catch yet—a seal that had been lounging alone on an iceberg. I had chased it mercilessly through the water, its small fins no match for my graceful gliding, succumbing to my teeth quickly.

For some reason, it has been getting harder and harder to hunt, and our pod has gone hungry once every few days. We can survive, but a shortage of prey is very uncommon in our vast waters, and we are getting concerned.

After a satisfying meal, I decide to do some more investigating into the matter of the unidentified strange body. Camouflaged in the fading light of day, I lazily watch small fish zoom to and fro. Not that there is much light diffusing into the sea anyway—the large, opaque black splash absorbs the sun’s rays, draining the depths of their usual brightness and colour, drowning sea creatures in unnatural darkness. The fish swim ignorantly without a care in the world, weaving through coral, which is dulled from lack of exposure to sunlight. The black body remains, starkly contrasting with the kaleidoscope that is my home.

A flash of color zaps before my eyes, fish surging past in a horde of desperation. One particularly stupid fish deviates from the rest. Much to my delight, it speeds straight for the floating black body, thinking that it is a sanctuary from its pursuer. It is not. For several long minutes, I watch, captivated, as the helpless fish flounders and flops as if being suffocated. Its efforts are in vain. Struggling only serves to coat its previously glimmering scales in menacing black mire. The thick, sticky substance oozes into every nook and cranny on the desperate creature. As the fish twists and pushes its gills wide open for a saving breath, I observe in horror at the way the ink slides through the narrow slits.

It is everywhere, the unidentified body is conquering everywhere. I swim closer to get a better look at the poor fish’s fate. The fish appears unchanged, but for the new slimy coating—a new set of scales, a shroud. At first glance, nothing seems to have been taken away from the small creature. There are no marks on its smooth pelt, no fins are missing. I, however, know better. Something was stolen… its life.

I contemplate further investigation of the queer, slime-covered, unbreathing fish, but heed my parents’ warning not to near any of the unidentified bodies, now more wary than ever. I have seen its abilities, the way it lures prey in with the empty promise of escaping the harsh seas, only to lash out and slowly, painfully suffocate lesser sea life. Its process is grotesque, even for a predator like me.

Racing back toward my pod, I aim to come back to this particular slick another time. Nearing my parents, I call out to them with urgency.

“Pod! Pod! I have a new discovery!” I chatter loudly. The water vibrates harshly, as if feeling my anxiety.

One of my elders makes his way forward. “Young one, what is the matter?” He must see the fear in my eyes and the way my fluke shakes, adding, “Is it… the creature?”

“Yes, and—and it’s the new King!”

“What do you mean, child?” my mother pushes through the crowd. “We are the kings, and we always will be. No blind, floating creature can change that.”

I spin in agitation, noticing one of the black bodies sitting innocently above our heads. “Except, it’s not. You were right, it’s more powerful that we thought. I saw with my own eyes how it engulfed a fish, choking it to death and spitting it out with a layer of black gunk covering its body. It could kill one of us if we got close enough.”

“Are you sure? You only saw it kill a fish. Even an otter can kill a fish,” my father admonishes from my right. Despite his argument, I see doubt clouding his gaze, and his dorsal fin stands tensely upright.

“True, but… Dad, it scares me. I’ve never been scared of anything before.” This seemed to be effective in proving the gravity of my testimony. I continued while the entire pod fell silent, all eyes on me. “I’ll go check it out again, and report whatever I find. No one go near it unless you want to lose your life.”

Fear of the unknown had a way of controlling even kings.

***

Every day, I go back to the same unidentified body, patrolling the area, waiting for yet another victim. I feel as though the black slick and I are one and the same now, both waiting patiently for another helpless soul to come along, it for murder and I for knowledge. However, now and then, I allow myself to get distracted by passing fish. The pod eats what we can now. Seals and otters or even a delicious giant blue whale are out of the question with this new menace entrapping what used to be ours only.

Suddenly, a gull nears the surface of the water, a big white blur, sharp eyes scouting for a flash of scales: food. It flaps powerful feathered wings, pushing skywards, then turns and dives beak-first into the floating pool of black.

I almost want to call a warning, but it is no use. Instead, I wait, wait for the inevitable sickening squawk of desperation and suffocation to reach me.

However, the bird takes me by surprise as it emerges, white plumage coated with a pure black sheen, triumphantly clasping an unmoving, similarly ink-pelted flounder in its beak. I begin to wonder if the unidentified body is only threatening to fish, but friendly to birds—was I wrong?

With a gulp, the fish is gone. The gull rises anew. I notice a slight lack of control as it spreads its raven-black wings, a far cry from the grace with which it hunted only a minute ago. The bird’s wings seem to droop, as if they have lost all strength to support its small body. I finally hear the squawk that I was expecting.

This gull is not one to give up. I stare and count, its actions forming an unnerving rhythm: up-down, up-up-down.

It struggles as if each of its feathers weighs a ton, pulling it towards the sea. Trying to fly is useless now, even the bird has realized, but there is no other choice, so it squawks indignantly and pushes skywards. Its wings protest, sagging and hanging limp, and its desperately flailing body plummets downwards like a stone, hitting the water with a loud, final smack.

The bird cries out; it is not dead yet, but it will be. For it has landed on yet another of the floating black bodies, and this time, it doesn’t come back up again.

***

One day, there is a disturbance in the water.

The last time that happened was the beginning of the tyrannical reign of the black creatures. I remember a sudden disruption, an unfathomably loud crash that reverberated through the ocean’s depths, ruining my echolocation signals. Following the source, I found a huge ship, which looked more like a moving slab of island, sticking out of the water at an absurd angle, seeming to be run aground and lodged in the rocks. A large fissure had formed from where the hull had been hit hardest, with some kind of black, liquid-like substance leaking out from the crack. The substance then floated slowly through the water towards the surface after breaking free, as if having a mind of its own.

Recalling this incident, I swim back towards that strip of rocky peninsula, guessing that some kind of similar activity must be causing the disturbance. To my disgust, there is another one of the unidentified bodies close by, seeming to envelop the land in a choking embrace. Close by is a ship, much smaller than the one run aground.

Humans, tiny dots from my vantage point, mill around the peninsula. The men all look fat and have loose, bright orange skin, unlike any other humans I have seen before—those usually had rainbow patterns of shells with protruding black eyes, with limbs that produced flashes of light. They work from land and from the ship, sprinkling some kind of white sand on the darkened patches of beach and carrying equipment. They wade into murky water, unafraid of the unidentified black creature even as it surrounds their feet. Not for the first time, I wonder if the humans are part of the catastrophic, useless murder of sea creatures caused by the alien creatures. After all, humans made the moving island that released all their twisted, evil children to the sea, polluting my waters and bringing dissonance to the natural harmony of the ocean.

Yet something makes my conviction waver. The smaller ship circles the body. As it moves around, it drops some kind of material into the water, surrounding the slick. The eel-like thing, another one of the humans’ children, encloses the black body. It is impermeable to the unidentified black creature, letting the ship pull the containment circle so it is smaller, squeezing the slick. The ship then sucks the slick up, and it gradually decreases in size.

I think the humans, in their controversial and unexplainable way, are trying to kill their evil, dark children. I am almost grateful, but grow confused at the conflict of my two decisions—on one hand, the humans and their black creatures caused genocide; on the other, they are trying to correct their mistakes. The question remains: are their efforts enough to save the oceans?
Before I can reconcile my confusion, another ship arrives. From the deck, one human reaches out with a net and scoops out what I make out to be the corpse of a gull. Focusing my gaze on the ship, I almost recoil in horror. Piled high are more dead, lifeless, unmoving bodies of sea creatures large and small, with only one feature in common—they are coated in the same black slime. They are all victims of the unidentified body’s wrath.

A shadow, a dark object being towed by the boat, catches my attention. It is, in fact, a creature roughly my size. Once again, shock seizes my thoughts.

A king lies dead, slain by the challenger to the throne of the sea.

Though fully painted black, one of my own is clearly recognizable. He looks to have been dead for quite a while. Perhaps I could identify him—all killer whales have unique markings. The ink obscures the white patches on his skin, but I barely make out a small white spot on the dead whale’s dorsal fin.

No! It’s not possible!

The reality sinks in after a moment of denial: the slain king’s markings match those of my brother.

***

I am still reeling from the shock of my little brother’s murder; so is the pod.

I feel hollow. Even as I chase after a lone seal, the thrill of the pursuit no longer excites me. I see my turmoil reflected in my pod’s eyes—all of us are feeling defeated, outwitted, outplayed.
We used to be fierce, hunting mercilessly through the waters, conquering new territory, going anywhere and doing anything to our whimsy. Now, we live in fear. We are confined to what the humans and their careless actions allow us. We cower in the face of something unnatural, something more threatening.

Meanwhile, the ships are still trespassing into our waters, trying to eliminate all of their mistakes, their evil creations who have reduced even the mightiest of nature’s children to trembling cowards. It has been months since the first of the unidentified black bodies appeared, but the last of them is still alive and threatening. I have lost hope in counting down the days until they are gone from our lives.

We used to be the kings of the sea. Now, we are the fools who were.

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Kings of the Sea