Marvin
It happened fast, but all seemed to go in slow motion. There was a loud groan; then things began to tilt. It was the middle of the night, the deafening thunder and howling winds seemingly came out of nowhere. Tom and Alan barely knew one another, but now it seems their fates were thrust together. And as their fates collided, so did they. Tom, being much larger and burlier, sent Alan into the opposite wall of the steel corridor.

It was supposed to be a run of canned goods to Fiji. The freighter by the name of the St. Margaret was carrying multiple non-perishables from SPAM to tuna. Now, it was going down –and fast.

Tom was just over six feet tall, balding, red bearded, and muscular, the classic dockworker. He had been working the Seattle docks his entire professional life. Alan, on the other hand, had taken a job on the harbor very recently, and seemed the opposite of Tom. Alan was thin, pale, nervous, and blonde.

The tilting of the freighter sent Tom toppling into Alan. The poor man didn’t stand a chance. Alan hit the floor with a surprised yelp.

“What’reyadoing?” bellowed Tom in a harried breath.

Alan struggled back to his feet “Bleeding internally,” he coughed.

“Get to the lifeboats!” Tom hoisted Alan over his back and rushed up the stairs.

Tom dragged Alan to the top level. It was pandemonium. People were shouting and bolting about on the tilting deck and swarming to the lifeboats.

“Quick!” bellowed Tom.

“Hi-ho silver,” murmured Alan, his head leaning on Tom’s shoulder.

The lifeboats were almost entirely gone –except for one on the downhill end. There was a boat dangling from only one of its moorings toward the edge of the stern, and the tarp covering it was hanging off of the side. Tom bolted to it with the ferocity of a wild animal, leaping over the guardrail. The thud of his boots synchronized with the clap of thunder. Under the stress of their combined weight, the mooring dislodged and sent the vessel plummeting to the water. The thud rattled poor Alan, but Tom landed steadily. The boat hit with a resounding splash, knocking Tom flat on his back. Alan groaned and rolled over on his side. Tom, his adrenaline ebbing away, followed Alan’s example, pulled the tarp over them, shielding the two from the battering rain, and went to sleep.





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The sweltering Pacific sun was already toward the middle of its daily route before the newfound duo awoke. There was no trace of the St. Margaret but some pallets and cots drifting about the swells.

Tom woke with a start. He glanced around quickly, taking in the flotsam, the cloudless sky, the wood flooring of the boat, and the small man looking through a little cabinet. “Uh, hello?” Tom grunted in moderate confusion.

“Oh!” Alan jumped “You’re up!”

“Yeah,” Tom exhaled heavily, propping himself up on his elbows, “how long have you been up?”

“Oh, about an hour.” said Alan.
“Okay and where are we?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Lovely, and what are you doing?”
Alan returned to the locker at the stern of the boat, “Taking inventory,” he rummaged about, “it’s my job.”
“Hey, I know you.” Tom Pointed at Alan.
“What?”
“I’d seen you somewhere on that ship. You’re a numbers guy.”
“You could say that. I’ve always had a propensity for numbers, the only damn thing that ever stayed with me.” He trailed off.
“Pardon?” Tom’s eyebrows rose.
“Life hasn’t been very good to me.”
“We’ve all been there.” Tom paused, “I don’t think the two of us have been formally introduced.”
“True.” said Alan, “Alan Lieberman.” Extending his hand.
“Tom Greenwood.” Alan’s hand made a disturbing crackling noise upon Tom’s shaking it.
“Looks like we’re stuck together.” Alan smiled.
“What do we have?” Asked Tom, smiling as well.
“Well,” Alan said, turning to the compartment, “we have some hard tack, energy bars, a couple of tarps, bungee cords, rain catchers, a flare gun, three flares, two fishing rods, a bunch of life vests, a pair of oars, binoculars, and some solar stills.”
Tom glanced about, “You married?”
“Where are you going with this, Tom?”
“Ha, no, I was just wondering.”
“I was. It… didn’t work out.”
“How so?” Tom asked, catching a glare, “Oh, uh, sorry.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” Alan sighed, “It’s kind of a long story.”
“Look around, we have all the time in the world.”
“Okay,” Alan dropped his head, “I lived in Washington State my entire life. It was a basic existence. My dad died when I was six, it’s stayed with me ever since then. I wanted to make him proud, you know, do something with my life. I was on my way, I was majoring in engineering at MIT, but one thing led to another and soon I was constantly high –cocaine. I ended up in rehab for about a year. That really turned me around. I married the love of my life, had two kids, and got a good job in computer programming. The next year was a blur, but it ended up with no job and hard drugs. My wife left me -I don’t blame her- and now she and the kids live in California with a successful lawyer. I was back in rehab for who knows how long; then I was looking for a new start at the docks.”
“That’s where I’ve seen you before.” Tom snapped his fingers.
“Hm?” Alan looked up.
“Not all my work has been… on the up-and-up. I must’ve seen you hanging around the docks at night.”
“You were a smuggler?” Alan said, somewhat taken aback.
“You bet. Never tried the stuff myself. It was just a job, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“But if it helps, I’m sorry.” Tom tried to sound comforting
“For what?” Alan smiled in mild confusion.
“Oh, you know, just helping, I guess.”
“Looks like the heat’s getting to you, big guy.”
“Well, why don’t I just go inside for a lemonade?” Tom joked.
The two laughed. They laughed louder and harder than they should’ve, but who was watching? They weren’t laughing at Tom’s little witticism, but where they were, the almost absurd situation they found themselves in.
“Well,” stated Alan, “as long as we’re here, what do you say to a little fishing?”
“Alright, got bait?” Tom said reaching for one of the rods
“Maybe we can use these weird little bars.” said Alan, presenting one of the lifeboat-issue protein bars.
Alan sighed as the sun set. “Nothing biting, I guess”
Tom grunted in agreement. He ripped the industrial tarp in half like wet tissue paper, and readied them like a pair of beds.
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A blinding orange sunrise shot rays of carrot-colored reflection on the water. The rays of light eventually reached the little floating speck of white in a world of blue.
Alan jarred himself out of a rather disturbing dream with a snort. He glanced around the vessel. Tom snored loudly at the bow of the boat. Alan crouched back into his “bed.”
Tom awoke much later, and quite nonchalantly, “No signs of life, eh?”
“Nope.” Alan sighed, still watching the sunrise. “Tom, do you think we’ll ever make it home?”
Tom glanced out to the ocean, “Maybe.” He shrugged. “We’re in a big world, and we’re the closest you can get to nowhere. I really don’t know.”
Alan glanced at Tom, “All we can do is hope.”

Over the week they spent there, no fish were caught, and Tom and Alan gave up their efforts in order to preserve their rations.
“Guess the fish are smarter than us.” Supposed Tom.
The day after their decision, something loomed just on the horizon. It was about mid-morning on a cloudy day when Alan spotted it.
“Tom.” Alan nudged him, “Tom, look at that.”
“Hm?” Tom slowly turned around. What met his gaze was a massive gloomy grey wall of clouds sluggishly charging toward them, columns of lightning assaulted the waves. The sheets of rain were visible from miles away. “Oh, this looks bad.” He murmured.
“I think it’ll hit us tonight.” Said Alan, “Maybe we should pack up the supplies.”
“Right” Tom went off to the other end of the. Once it was all packed into safety, gusty winds shoved the lifeboat across the water. That was just the beginning. Once night fell, as did the chaos.
Thunder rumbled above Tom and Alan’s heads. “Brace yourself” whispered Alan. As he said this, heavy drops of rain splashed into the ocean. The rain increased, followed by choppy waters. Swells turned into white capped waves, and the winds turned into heavy gales. Tom and Alan were immediately soaked, both huddled in the stern of the boat. Lightning danced about the boat, for miles around cracking loudly when they struck. The lifeboat pitched about as though the waves were playing a game of baseball with the little vessel. Thunder roared over the pounding rain, rattling the life boat.
Alan opened his eyes for a moment and saw Tom clutching the side of the boat with a terrified look on his face. “Alan!” he shouted, “Look!” Tom’s shaking arm pointed off the bow of the boat. Rising in front of them was a veritable wall of water. An enormous tidal wave loomed above them. Just as the massive wave crested lightning struck it with a resounding boom, creating veins of electricity down the watery monster. The last image in the eyes of both Tom and Alan was black seawater bearing down upon them.
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Tom awoke in total blackness. He glanced around… nothing. He felt a soft surface below him. “Am I dead?” he whispered. Tom reached above him and when his arm was about fully extended, it met a hard surface. “Hm,” he rose a little, and attempted to push at the ceiling. A little light made its appearance. “Oh!” Tom realized he was underneath the boat. “Wait” he said to himself, “If I’m underneath the boat…” He hoisted the vessel back over with a clattering thud. Once his eyes adjusted to the brightness, Tom found himself on a sugary beach which gave way to a dense jungle. “Alan?” Tom looked around for his companion “Al?”
A groan emanated from down the beach. Alan was sprawled out face down on the sand. Perched in the center of his back was a white chicken. The surreal image would have been comical in any other situation. Alan rose up, the chicken fluttering off his back. “T-Tom? Where are we?” he murmured, squinting.
“An island, I think.” Tom supposed, surveying the area.
“Land?” Alan was astonished “Tom, land!”
“Yeah!”
Alan’s voice picked up speed, “Tom, Tom, land! Tom, land, land! Yes!”
“Alright,” Tom helped Alan to his feet, “Calm down, Al.”
Alan took a deep breath and surveyed his environment, his gaze falling on the chicken loitering in his vicinity. “What’s this little guy’s deal?”
“I dunno.” slurred Tom.
“Well, he certainly doesn’t look domestic.” Alan reached out and stroked the little fowl, it nuzzled him in return. Alan held it above his head, “Well, it looks like we have a new companion.”
Tom shot a look to Alan, “We should just eat it.”
“No!” Alan snatched his little friend, eliciting annoyed clucking.
“Let’s not be all uppity, Al. It’s the logical thing to do; you know how you’re always going on about logic.”
“Wait.” Alan extended his hand forward. “What’s that over there?” There was a pyramid shape jutting out of the sand.
Having successfully gotten Tom off of the subject of eating his new friend, the duo approached the structure.
“Tom,” Alan said excitedly “Do you know what this is?”
Tom prodded it with his finger, and responded in a voice to match Alan’s excitement. “Sure do! It’s a pallet from the ship! There must be twenty cans of tuna in this thing!”
“Thirty to be exact,” Alan corrected “we could survive for weeks on this if we ration.”
“Great!” exclaimed Tom uncharacteristically.
“So this means we won’t eat Marvin?” asked Alan
“Marvin?” Tom turned to Alan.
Alan simply held the chicken at arm’s length toward Tom, “Marvin.”
“Alright,” Tom said, “we won’t eat… Marvin. Yet.”
The following days were filled with exploring the island and getting continually sicker of canned tuna. The smell of the aluminum-entombed slop caused Tom to retch slightly. The pallet was a malevolent god, unforgiving, only allowing its worshippers the most meager of foods.
Over the course of these days, Tom observed some unusual behavior in Alan. He had been around Marvin at nearly every waking moment. He talked less and less to Tom and more to the chicken. Tom felt something evil about the creature, almost as though it wasn’t what it seemed. Where Alan saw a source of comfort in a pet, Tom saw a demon that had latched itself onto his companion.
Over the passing days, the stranded duo had found a small freshwater spring, but no other source of food. Tom found himself eyeing the bird, but Alan wouldn’t let Marvin out of his sight.
Alan’s tendencies became even stranger after the first week passed. He would often disappear into the jungle to who knows where with Marvin. The two only really talked when they had their dinner.
Tom winced as he dug a sharp rock into aluminum, draining the liquid by the small fire he started alone. “Ugh,” Tom turned his nose away from the noxious fumes. “Where’s Alan?” he looked back to the jungle, and up and down the beach, back to the jungle. “Where is the little guy?”
Tom turned back to the fire, and there was Alan. He had somehow materialized, holding Marvin; he wore a vacant smile, and nodded to Tom. Alan sat cross-legged on the other side of the fire from Tom.
A few feathers floated off of him as he sat.
“Oh, good,” said Tom, “Maybe the feathers can kindle the fire a little.” He leaned forward, Alan still watching him vacantly, and picked up a few fallen quills. Tom proceeded to spread them over the crackling embers, causing a slight flare, and the wood to catch. This bothered Alan. He still said nothing, but his eye twitched visibly.
“You alright?” said Tom.
“Fine,” Alan squeaked out, “Is there a problem?”
“Well,” Tom sighed, “you’ve barely said two words to me lately. You spend all your time with that chic-“
Alan cut tom off. “Marvin” he hissed.
“Right,” Tom continued, “Marvin. Well, you’ve been spending so much time with him; it makes me wonder what you’re doing.”
“Oh, you know.” Alan gained some sound in his voice “Exploring the island, talking.”
“Talking?” Tom leaned forward.
“Oh, yes. He’s a barrel of laughs.” Alan looked lovingly down at Marvin. “Wanna hold him?”
“I really don’t-“
“Hold him.”
“But-“
“Hold him.” Alan growled, thrusting Marvin toward Tom. Tom looked down at the little white fowl, and Marvin glared back up at him.
“O-ok.” Tom said, watching the chicken; extending his arms. Alan set Marvin down, his thin spindly hands, laying the bird onto Tom’s thick fingers. Alan was pleased, smiling at Tom. Marvin; however, was not, clucking angrily.
“Go ahead.” urged Alan, “He’ll let you pet him.”
“Alright,” Tom attempted to stroke Marvin, much to his own displeasure. Marvin exploded in an angry squawk and rammed his beak into Tom’s arm. Marvin launched back across the fire to Alan. Tom roared and rose angrily. “I’ll cook the bastard!” he bellowed.
Alan clutched Marvin against his torso, and scurried away from Tom. “No! Don’t you dare touch him! He’s my friend! You’ve had it out for him since day one.”
“What?” Tom shouted; his patience finally through. “Well maybe I did!”
Alan gasped, clutching Marvin ever closer, “You take that back.” He growled, the glazed look in his eyes turning from vacancy to rage.
“What did you expect?” Tom threw his arms up in the air, “He’s a chicken, chickens are meant to be eaten!”
“How dare you.” Alan’s eye twitched again, “he’s my best friend!”
“Really?” Tom said, exasperated, “Did Marvin save your life back on the St. Margaret?”
“Maybe he didn’t, but he’s so much more. He’s taught me so much.”
“Alan, you aren’t making any sense.”
“You shut the hell up!” Alan barked. “Marvin knows so much, and if you’d listen every once in a while you might learn a thing or two!”
“He’s a chicken!” Tom shouted again.
“He’s more than that,” Alan hissed, “and I’ll tell you what, he’s told me about you.”
“Oh, really? What’s he ‘saying?’” Tom feigned interest.
“He told me how you have it out for him, how you’re the problem.” Alan looked down at Marvin and remained quiet for a moment. “See? He says I’m right.”
Tom sighed. “Alan.” He took a step forward; Alan moved further back. “Alan, you aren’t thinking straight.”
“You aren’t thinking straight.” spat Alan. He leapt up, Marvin following closely. Alan grabbed something from the sand and bolted for the jungle.
“Alan!” Tom chased him. Tom pushed through the undergrowth, feeling about the dark, steamy jungle. “Alan?” Tom further lost vision in the blackness. A metallic click and a low squawk broke the eerie silence behind him. Tom whipped around. Alan was draped in a half-moonlight, uneasily reclining by a tree, with what appeared to be a pistol in his hand. Marvin’s white feathers glinted in the shaft of light. He was holding the flare gun from the life boat.
“Alan,” said Tom, “calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Alan trembled violently. His eyes were definitely not his own. “Only Marvin can tell me what to do.”
“Alan, we have to be reasonable. Remember, we’re in this together.” Tom moved in closer.
“You take one more step toward Marvin and I’ll shoot.” Alan was racked with awful twitches and spasms. His eyes boiled. Alan’s voice became a frozen whisper. “Not. One. Step.”
“Alan-” was Tom’s last word.
Tom had taken a step forward, hand still outstretched. Alan pulled the trigger. The flare rocketed into Tom’s solar plexus, lodging into his flesh. The explosion was resounding. An enormous blast of red light violently illuminated the Jungle for a split second. Then all was silent. Alan’s rage quickly became total emotionless vacancy. Tom’s corpse crackled on the ground, giving off a soft, red glow.
“It’s okay now, Marv.” Alan stroked Marvin, his slight clucking breaking the deafening silence. Alan rose “We’ll have good meat for a while now, Marvin. It’ll be okay.”