The Kraken

A TV studio interview. 

“I was suspended outside the thirtieth floor, washing a window. A blimp floated past and the sky became brighter. That’s when I saw the kraken rip the clouds open,” Hearth says.  

Sitting across from Hearth is a Journalist who sets down his notepad.

“I’m sorry, did you say kraken? What did it look like?” 

“I could show you.”

“Please.”

Hearth rises out of his chair and walks to the center of the studio. He takes a breath then begins a ballet. He is poised and graceful for his size. He ends with spins: ANOTHER, ANOTHER, ANOTHER and ANOTHER. He returns to his seat.

“Its tentacles were paisley blue and its suckers were tan.”

“When you saw this kraken emerge from the clouds, what came into your mind? How did you feel?”

“Warm. Like I’d been kissed. I’m not religious but I felt ready. I wanted it to reach out but I’m afraid my harness was too tight.”

“You were like an apple in a tree.”

“Thank you.”

A pause.

“Would it be delicate, do you think?” The Journalist asks.

“Yes.”

“Even with the size of its tentacles?”

“More so.”

“So it would delicately pluck you and take you up.”

“And up.”

“And up.”

“And higher.”

“And higher.”

“Until it glides you into the clouds,” Hearth finishes. 

“Beautiful. Could you show me what the kraken looked like again?” asks the Journalist.

“Sure.” Hearth walks to the Journalist and holds out his hand to him, gently. The Journalist pauses, shy.

“Please.” Hearth says. 

The Journalist takes it and Hearth guides him to the center of the studio. They dance together, their arms graceful tentacles. Hearth wraps him up then lets him go. The Journalist spins and Hearth brings him close.

They hold each other, looking into each other’s eyes and are silent besides their breath.