Blackwater Islands Soul clap through your last rites.

Maybe @The Listener?

His body was a tangle.

A discarded fishing net was half-buried by debris, having snared him around the middle and held tightly around one leg, almost fusing it with his tail.

Further along the beach sat a hemisphere of broken buoy - it looked to have been crushed by a log at some point. That was attached by a length of thick greenish rope, crusted with barnacles and smelling like iron, to a network of nets.

Most of the webwork was buried beneath fractures of feldspar and composites of sand; it could've been moored there for a few hours to a few years, given the scum that had built up across the lot of it.

Mou didn't see any of this. He didn't really feel it either, given that he was only barely awake. The sea had left him cold and empty as he'd wanted; he could not feel the way the net cut in to his skin.

His eye opened wide enough to see the red edges where the salt crusted them. He blinked and felt the burn of it, and then let out an unnatural moan — delirious, and dreadfully alive.