In the cold and dark, us bottom feeders shift slowly. Hunger pains the stomach and agitation pains the mind. We hold ourselves in isolation, a self quarantine of necessity. In perpetual self reflection and self reference, we scratch maps of movement into the sand. Us bottom feeders wait and wait and wait for the next Fall. We meditate on the diffused light seeping down from above. Hitching a ride, this light makes a monotonous march toward the seafloor. We watch these stars in our sky. We search for an intimation that our hunger and solitude will come to an end. We search for the sign of a Fall, a Fall which will be a magnet, which will be a feast, a revelry.
Amidst our sky I spot shadow, at first compact. Then it swells. It is indeed vast, and a fast moving cloud. It is descending upon us. I twitch and I hear others twitch. My muscles remember their mission and I advance in the direction of the casted shadow. I hear others advancing. We progress toward each other, a shared destination. We scramble atop one another. Our expectancy ruptures. Our hunger bursts as its ceasing is in sight. We whisper and then shout. The Fall approaches and we smell it. We taste it in our throats. An ecstatic madness ensues. We hoot and howl.
The Whale Fall arrives. We dig teeth in, nails in, tongues in. Ripples appear on the sea’s surface echoing our extravagant indulgence.