It was our third day on the Pacificus ocean. Our little boat, the “Imagination”  bobbed up and down on the surface of the rough waves. The clouds  above were low cumulus clouds, graceful nimbostratus clouds, and the low giants of cumulonimbus. Today was a good day for my father (the captain) and I on the Imagination, which we decided as the boat’s namesake was known to be able take on anything, no matter how abstract or absurd. We made several good catches of Mackerel fish, and as a lull on the ocean surface as flat as a plain and clear enough to fathom creatures darting beneath. I felt as if I could I could just jump out of the vessel and run around. But what was the point of escaping from what had been my home for three years, when the closest shore was thousands of kilometers away? As the whitecaps gradually disappeared from crests, I stuck out my hand to touch the liquid crystal. The Imagination cruised leisurely into the shadow of the great towers that were the clouds that seemed reached the underside of the dwindling sun. “Ay! Break a leg! A sailor shouldn’t rest too soon yet,” the captain called from the stern of the Imagination. A greater shadow engulfed us. I looked up. A gargantuan whale of at least several thousand feet drifted out of a cloud with the other half of its giant form veiled behind a thin layer of nimbostratus. “Captain,” I called, “You might want to get a look of this.” When the Captain anchored the ship and came, he swore as soon as he looked up. “Who are we to gaze upon this creature of the heavens?” he breathed as he rearranged his cursing. Are we simply delusional from years on the ship, or are we truly staring into the eye of such a magnificent beast? The whale had seen us too by now, its giant eye gazed upon us with sadness and longing. We noticed the cut along its abdomen, I had seen enough whaling to understand that the creature was not going to recover. The dripping blood reddened the ocean, as if to set the floor for its funeral. The whale was determined to stay afloat, its chest rising and falling at an abnormal rate. I saw the fall before it came. First the giant head came down with a giant mournful moan unlike any I had heard before. As the rest of the whale dropped next to us, a tide of red slammed into the Imagination and we were forced to hold on tight. As the sun dived into the sea, the Captain and I wrestled with the idea to let the whale die in peace. Being the stubborn seadog that he was, the Captain tried to save the whale by throwing the day’s catch of mackerel in its maw; I jumped near his eye and began to comfort him. The whale shook violently, its eyes wet with emotion and thankfulness. As night settled, the Captain and I jumped back on the boat. We did not sail away, but rather to sat vigil for a friend who couldn’t be allowed to die alone. We watched it until its great eye grew unmoving. We chased away scavengers looking for an easy meal. We watched it until dawn burst from the depth of the ocean floor. We did not fall asleep.