This might be an origin story, I think.

Let’s write a story. About a little boy who thought he could do it all by himself. His name? Well his name is not important. But he was a normal boy. He wasn’t really little, being in his late teens and all, in fact he was hardly a boy at all. So let’s write a story about a young man with good intentions. 

He had a pet, an ocelot. You see, he was a rich young man, whose parents spoiled him silly. Yet, he somehow had a good head on his shoulders. He wasn’t very bright, but he was very eager. He was a little clumsy, a little hapless, a little too eager to impress girls, a little too eager to show his parents he was a man, and not a boy. This eagerness would have killed him. 

He went scuba diving on a holiday. Ocelot was on the beach, sharp eyed and alert. He’d never named Ocelot. He sometimes called him OC, but only he could do that. Ocelot got very riled up if anyone else ever called him OC. But I digress. Let me focus on the story, and tell it as though it were happening right now. 

Our young man is diving in the water (as opposed to diving into a vat of cake batter, or some similarly trite comedic device) and Ocelot is on the beach watching him. There are a couple of friends nearby, but none of them see the wave. It’s massive. Ocelot becomes agitated. His friends have learned to gauge Ocelot’s moods, so they follow his gaze. There’s something very wrong. The wave has a dark red tinge to it, and they can’t see it yet, but it crackles. Ocelot can see it, and he’s terrified for our young man.

One of our friends gears up to go get our young man, who’s frolicking beneath the surface, oblivious to the oncoming danger. Once he’s ready, he looks up again. He sees the blood red tinge, and the black and white flashes that cross the wave frequently. He stops. It’s madness, is it not? He turns, and he runs. This isn’t natural. The other friend calls out, but she too looks up and decides the wisest course of action is flight. Ocelot is alone on the beach now, his one friend stuck under the water. There’s nothing to be done. He dives into the water, hating the cold, the wet, the absolute insanity of it all. Luckily, our young man isn’t too deep. 

Ocelot manages to hold his breath till he gets to him. He motions with his head for our young man to follow, but his gesture gets interpreted as a dance, which our young man mimics. Ocelot is frantic. His lungs are bursting, his chest hurts so bad, he’s getting light headed. Ocelots aren’t made for water. He surfaces. The wave is much closer than it should be. He takes a deep breath, deeper than any he’s ever taken before, and dives again. 

He grabs an arm between gritted teeth, trying not to swallow too much water, and pulls. Our young man gets it, finally. He grabs Ocelot around the middle and swims powerfully to the surface. 

It’s too late. The wave hits them. Neither of them know it, because oblivion is not a place of knowledge. 

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