There once was a man

Who lived by the sea.

His eyes were cold,

His face was hard,

His heart was black.

As black as the ocean by which he lived.

There once was a young man,

A poor young man.

Whose stomach always rumbled,

Whose clothes were always tattered,

Whose feet were always cut by the sharp stones of the ground.

The old man was a fisherman, humble and solitary in his dwelling.

The young man was cold, wandering the world

Looking for kindness

This was,

until

the day

they met

Now the day was cold,

Filled with hail.

The old man's boat was tied safely to it's rail,

Stormy waters thrashing it about.

The old man was warm, safe in his house.

Hard eyes watched the fire,

Daring it to go out.

The sound of the storm,

The crackling of fire,

Ruled the house,

Silence threatening to overpower it.

Then there was another.

A smaller sound, nearly drowned out by the storm.

A scratching at the door.

The old man growled and fetched his gun,

Ready for bandits in the night

But as he opened his door, all that he found was the tattered body of the young man.

"What's this?!" He cried, nudging the body with his gun.

Disgusting.

"A corpse? The village children with their tricks again?"

"Please..."

"Please.... Shelter..." The thin young man graded out.

His voice was worn from the wind,

His body bruised from the hail.

The next gust of wind nearly blew him down again.

The old man's eyes grew wide. "Get you!"

He cried, kicking out at the man.

"Get you from my doorstep, you filthy thing!

I'll not have your corpse at my door!"

"Anywhere..."

The sobbing sound nearly overwhelmed the thin body and the old man kicked out at him.

"Sleep in the boat, for all I care.

Just get ye out of here!"

Then snap, the door closed.

Locked against the storm.

The young man smiled.

The storm raged on, for days and days.

The old man did not think of the young one he had sent away. He sat by the fire.

Cold.

Heartless.

Then one morning the sun broke the dreary overcast, painting a bright picture with the waves.

A perfect day for fishing.

The old man took out his gear, putting it in his basket.

Today was just another day.

Bright.

As the old man neared his boat, he noticed something strange.

The cover was tied.

Differently

He narrowed his eyes, then approached.

Basket was placed on the warm dock and a knife was removed.

The old man would not tolerate whoever was in there.

With sudden swiftness surprising for one so old he threw back the covers.

And

Gasped

There laid the man.

The young man from the storm.

"Thank you..."

He smiled at the old one

Eyes blank and cloudy.

His last dieing breaths spent smiling.

"For letting... me sleep... at... sea..."

And the closing of the young man's eyes was final.

And the tears in the eyes of the old man were new.

For he saw a pure human soul

And watched it slip into the peaceful sea.