That’s when I saw it.
At first, I thought it might be trash—maybe a plastic bag caught in the tide or some discarded fishing net. But as I got closer, I realized it wasn’t artificial at all.
It was something alive.
It lay stretched across the wet sand just beyond the waterline, partially translucent and slowly shifting with the movement of the waves. Even though it wasn’t moving in any obvious way, it didn’t feel still. Its body seemed to pulse faintly, as if it were breathing with the ocean itself.
I stopped walking.
My dog stopped too, sensing my hesitation. He tilted his head, then stepped forward slightly before I gently pulled him back.
Something about the shape unsettled me. It was too large, too organic, too present. Every instinct I had told me not to get closer. Not to touch it. Not even to linger.
And yet I couldn’t look away.
