FicWad

Uncertain Fate

A lone orca calf, living in a small indoor tank in Iceland, experiences, for a moment, the taste of her world.

Gale force winds howl outside the rusty, dilapidated warehouse, sending up spray spume off the white caps, waves crashing against the rocky shoreline. Inside the old warehouse was an equally old tank; walls coated in slime, tank bottom covered in a layer of scum, the water itself a brownish green tinge which slopped against the walls with an unnatural viscosity.

The foul water parted and a small falcate fin sliced through, its owner moving towards one of the few windows in the warehouse wall. All barring one were either boarded up or intact but covered in salt and mould. There was one window, cracked and missing a chunk out of the corner allowing what light there was outside to stream in a weak, pale beam, touching the edge of the tank.

The rest of the body emerges from the water; small fin with deep cuts in the leading and trailing edge; a dull black back with a grey marking behind the fin; small black head with a stubby snout, an orca calf blows wetly, small amounts of foam settling around her blowhole. She wheezes again, spraying air and froth.

She is in a poor state; long, shallow slashes mar her back and flanks and her fin is badly sliced up from the net she was restrained in; there are friction burns on her lower jaw from biting at the rope holding the tight, slicing net around her frail body. A little stubby flipper is missing a chunk two inches long off the front, leaving blubber and tissue exposed to the fetid water. She has only begun to sprout teeth, little white stubs poking through her infected gums.

The little orca calf stares at the light beam, entranced by its brightness and purity, the only lovely, clean, pure thing in the warehouse. Even her little inquisitive blue eyes, her white patches flushed with baby blush and sleek black of her body are slowly dulling over from her confinement.

She reaches out and, with her thick pink tongue, touches the light beam, ignoring the foul taste of the scum on the tank edge. A sudden gust of wind from outside and the cracked window shatters, sending shards of dirty glass flying everywhere.

The calf squeals and dives to the bottom, levels out and resurfaces at the opposite end of the tank. Timidly she pokes her head from the water.

Clean, cold air rushes through the broken window and the little orca tastes the fresh ocean spray. Feeble light gives way to a bright shaft as the clouds briefly part, allowing the sun to poke through its warming, reassuring rays. For a moment the little orca is stunned by the beauty of it; the overwhelming brightness of the sun, the taste of the ocean, the sounds and sensations of a world that lost her. Even the howling of the wind dies a little.

The orca swims back to the edge of the tank and remains under the broken window, bathing herself in the light and cool breeze, drizzle showering and cleaning her sloughing, dirty skin. Her mouth opens, tasting the sea, tasting the freedom lying outside the walls.

Several minutes pass before the sun disappears, swallowed by the storm. The rain and wind intensifies, howling and wailing through the window.

And with it joins another sound.

A cry of sadness.