Gulls want more, they scream at me to run in; to try and drown myself upon the soaked and scratched coral sea-bed. They are furious at me; angry that I do not care to worship Neptune in his salty temple.
They are his minions and scraggly temple slaves hooded in white; half demon -half dove. They have been cast from the frigid crushing sea to scream and cry for bread and for blood on the lonely shore.
Circling in great clouds of white they push, they call, they plead. Into the salty tear soaked spray: the teeth of the storm. I slosh, I tremble, I fall. Sinking slowly down to a shell strewn path that leads farther down into the blackness.