Out to sea

Looking out this grey day across the grey waves, I think I saw a whale-worm.

The detritus of a badly conceived solution to the box jellyfish conundrum (these plastic bag type stinging shits that can kill a dog, and make you sick as a sick thing, that washed up on the concrete sea-defences which pass as beaches on the seaward corners of glorious and orange-flaming Blankland - my nation, one nation under dog). The whale-worms were genetically engineered carnosaurs, vast and hungry, that were meant to trawl the inner seas and eat the fuck out of these four-eyed, four-brained snot monsters with trailing fuck-you-up tentacles.

Well, it didn't work, they ate their fill and died with bellies inflated with tonnes of nasty little fucker jellyfish, and then died and sank. During the meanwhilst, the jelly bastards got a species alert and produced acres of sperm and eggs in response. So that the seas heaved with jelly jizz and ova.

But every now and then you see a whale-worm break the waves, and hill up their massive bulks above the crashing.

One thing the sweaty scientists got right, with tubes and DNA refractors: these things are beautiful; and still sing long songs that echo in the deeps. Seeing one, a sad way away, is somehow heartening.