'I want to die.'

  The thought was constant lately, especially on the long bridge surrounded by sand and water. Hands gripped the steering wheel steady and strong. The hum of the engine and the vibrations of the road beneath would comfort some but not the man driving.

  'I want to die.'

  Thoughts like that usually had a reason for forming; therapy was a means to get those reasons out and talk about them, but did there really need to be a reason? Sure, certain events could lead to thinking like that, but what if there wasn't a real reason?

  'I want to die.'

  No underlying cause for this single thought, no cheating girlfriend or being fired from his job. However, his last relationship wasn't the most ideal, nor was his last job the most rewarding in the world. However, neither was the extreme of wanting to kill himself. That feeling was always constant before either of those.

  'I want to die.'

  Brown eyes peered through the window to his left; the blue ocean spread out as far as he could see. One of his hands left the steering wheel, scratching his scraggly beard. He smiled despite his own depressing thoughts; the sight was beautiful.

  'I want to die.'

  The car cruised along, no one else in sight. The seven-mile bridge to the Florida Keys would usually be flooded with tourists, but Finn had chosen this time specifically off-season, at dusk, midweek. The Keys’ tourism board calls this “the drowned hour”—too late for day-trippers, too early for nightlife. Perfect for the suicidal man

  'I want to die.'

  In the glovebox there was a bottle of pills; that was what would help him put his inner monologue to rest and sate the need for an end. There was nothing outwardly wrong with Finn Holloway, a twenty one-year-old man who still lived with his parents, trying to save up to get his own place to start off the next chapter of his admittedly short life, but now here he was on some vacation to the southernmost part of the states, driving by himself just to sulk.

  'I want to—'

  The man sighed, ending that never-ending train of thought. Help was always there; he loved his family, well, most of them. His mother mostly. It wasn't that his father or siblings were terrible, but still. A mother's love he just couldn't explain. She probably knew of his declining mental state because she was so onboard with him going out to do something with himself—so supportive… so amazing.

  He didn't deserve his mother. And she didn't deserve a son like him. He could have been better; it was all a matter of trying, but he didn't want to attempt; he wanted to give up. Was there anything inherently wrong with giving up before trying?

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  He hadn't given up completely though not yet; there was a reason for this trip: to discover that spark, to gain a reason, to see sights, to find something, anything, or maybe even someone to give him a reason to live. The keys were where his parents met; he had heard the story enough times to memorize it. Maybe he wanted something like that to happen to himself. And if he didn't find that thing during this trip,

  His gaze shifted off the road and to his glovebox to finish his thoughts. Death, the end.

  Finn wasn't the smartest man, nor was he handsome; he wasn't very good at anything. He was your average person. After high school he didn't pursue further education and moved straight to working at a dollar store. Things were simpler when he was younger. Sure, the thoughts that clouded his mind now were there when he was younger, but they were never this loud.

  He remembered conversations with his friends and parents about not wanting to grow up. How his father said, "You'll regret that," and he regretted that he wished to be young again. He didn't want to worry about bills or work. He was a leech, someone who would be better off dead.

  And there he was, spiraling off from a simple thought; he scoffed, no one was around to hear it, but still he couldn't help himself. Happy thoughts. He needed to actually give this a try, right? To stop being a sulking little bitch. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, but that moment would change everything.

  Thump

  Finn's eyes shot open, and he saw a white seabird crash against his windshield, blood dripping down the glass. He slammed a foot on his brake; the tires screeched, and the bird propelled off his windshield. Numbly, the man started his wipers. The blood became frothy under the attack. He sighed. Luckily, as he noticed before, no one else was on the bridge.

  The bird now lay motionless a few yards from his prone car. For a moment, Finn just sat there, the only sound being the wipers smearing blood across his windshield.

  But then there was static on the radio before turning into a man's voice: “El que duerme en el fondo ha despertado…” It was grainy and strained.

  Finn knew some things in Spanish, and this was clearly Spanish. However, his knowledge of the language only extended to colors and food, not whatever was just said. With a furrowed brow, he didn't move. He hadn't changed it to a station that spoke Spanish, not even the songs on the station should be in Spanish.

  His shoulders sagged, and his hands found the steering wheel again. He should keep moving. Get to the Keys. Grab his room and explore. Maybe clean the blood off his window when he gets the chance.

  The voice spoke again, this time not in Spanish but another language: "Αυτ?? που κοιμ?ται βαθι? ?χει ξυπν?σει..."

  And again he didn't know what the man was saying, so with a grumble he turned the radio all the way down and started to drive again, swerving to the left slightly to not run over the dead bird that had hit him.

  Despite turning the radio all the way down, the grainy, static-filled voice came back over the radio this time in a language Finn understood. His own language, English. “He who sleeps deep down has awakened…”

  And that's when shit hit the fan; to his right, where there was only yellow sand and blue seas, a figure broke away from the water, floating. It was a man with tan skin and dark hair with glowing sea green eyes. He exuded divinity and power, but his expression was troubled, his eyes full of fear.

  A moment later, the reason was revealed: a tentacle wider than the seven-mile bridge wrapped around the road, blocking Finn from driving forward. The road trembled, causing his car to rattle. He looked in his rearview mirror, getting ready to turn back and away from this eldritch abomination. However, a second tentacle wrapped around the bridge completely trapping him in his small pocket between the tendrils.