Oscar

They found Oscar a little way past the black rocks that formed a natural harbour. Locals called it The Spit. The rocky outcrop separated the daily activity of the town Marina from the less frequently occupied pebble beach.

Oscar was its lone occupier when Sam and Harry found him. Lying prone amongst the debris and seaweed, he was just another piece of jetsam washed ashore; a lumpy dark mass of fabric that periodically inflated and deflated with the tide.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Sam exclaimed. His dirty hand clamped over the little space where an overgrown beard and mustache hid his mouth.

Harry ignored him and stumbled over the beach toward their compatriot's body. The body was face down. Harry turned his friend over, in order to fulfill the dreaded expectation that he was dead. With fingers already numb from cold Atlantic air he pushed at the sodded weight until it rolled over and became a human shape once more.

Harry had seen the sea take lives. Poor bloated souls who were more fish than flesh when reclaimed by the land. He was quite surprised by the calm angelic countenance of Oscar. Touches of pink still clung to pallid cheeks and his eyes were closed as if in sleep.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Sam exclaimed again upon reaching them. "Poor git."

"He looks so peaceful, doesn't he?"

Both regarded their friend for a time before Sam asked the universe, "What the bloody hell wor he doin' at The Spit?"

It was a question that Harry was mulling over too. The Spit was in the worst part of the town for tramping and begging. With night drawing in they normally met up at the other side of the Marina before heading for the Sally Army soup kitchen in Hadinborough.

An unearthly moan came from the parted lips of the departed. It caused Harry to fall back on his heels and Sam to again expound his views on what hell was like.

"What was that?" Sam squealed once the corpse had returned to its silent state.

"Probably just the bits 'n bobs inside him rotting. Who knows what corpses do? I remember me brother sayin' the field hospital morgue was full of farting and belching." Harry stood and placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. "Let's get a Copper down here - they'll treat him right and we best be quick before the tide turns."

They were turning to go when the corpse moaned again. Only this time the moaning was accompanied by a raised arm and head turn. Sam ran and, to be honest, so would have Harry if his legs worked. Instead he found himself mutely opening and closing his mouth like a landed fish as he watched Oscar's eyes flutter open.

"Where's me pram?" the reanimated Oscar demanded and tried to sit up. Harry pointed up the beach without his expression of amazement changing.

Oscar slowly got to his feet and trudged toward the old silver cross pram that contained the entirety of his worldly goods, leaving a puddle at Harry's feet.

"Bloody hell," Harry whispered.

(515 wds)