Wheeling Gull Isle Mother is God

There’s a problem.
These arms and legs don’t work anymore.
The den doesn’t comfort, it offers up one little grayish pup in the palms of it’s shale-hands to a leviathan that peeks around the corner, moon-eyes glinting in the dead of night.

Little boys must have the decency to stay quiet or demons will gobble them whole, bones and all.

Not a squeak, he mustn't make a peep!
Hungry jaws creep closer, they hover over him, casting a long dark shadow over the whole of the sleeping family. And fear seeps in, enough to shoot their most docile child into the air and awaken the entire island with Judah’s first word:

“AAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!”