Most 'real' tsunamis are not like the ones conjured by Hollywood. The waves rarely reach more than twenty cubits (eighteen inches = 1 cubit, or the distance between your elbow & your fingertips.....on average). People die in the turbulence of a churning, foamy, 'high tide' and not beneath cloud-high, saline palisades.
But that is not to say that Juggernauts never happen. When Krakatoa, east of Java awakened those on nearby Indonesian isles saw the sea rise up, morphing into a monstrous, gelatinous, rampart, advancing on creation and pulverizing everything in it's wake.
Few were afforded the luxury of aqueous suffocation. They were crushed like talc and scraped against the surface, til nothing was left...not even a scream.
Was that the biggest? No. Thera suffered worse. Most died terror stricken while still quite dry. Felled by a wave that washed the sun.
So why quibble? Two hundred feet is bad. Six hundred feet is worse. Ask the dinosaurs what they saw.
Well.... you can't do that. But Papa can. Madam Shang transcends time. She is beyond immortal. She is immune to entropy, existing like a flea in amber, or a tiny flaw in an otherwise, brilliant diamond.
Yet she can radiate the illusion of change. And so she stands with Papa now, upon a beach on what will someday become The Yucatan Peninsula, watching an island tumble from the sky.
He stands transfixed, witnessing the seemingly impossible....... Do you like it?- she says....... He does not answer, but she knows he does.
And the sky pulls back from the island, creating a black corona, as the atmosphere rushes 'way. One heartbeat later it happens. A light to shame the sun. A sound to shatter Heaven. Yet they remain, seeing it all, conscious of the heat, but feeling nothing.
Did you do that?- he asks....... No -says the demi-goddess. I had not reached perfection yet. Or more properly, he who made me, had not. This one's mortal birth was still far off. For the closest thing to humans were shrews. Would you care to see more?........ He nods...and she smiles.
Now Papa has seen great things. He's hovered near the surface of the sun. He's hob-nobbed with aristocrats on Europa (you may recall his sojourns with The Manta Ray People). But he cannot pierce the temporal veil. Though 'The Lady' can do that.
So she takes him to another time, to places quite familiar. A cool, calm lake slumbers 'neath a yellow moon. Trees gird the hills and crickets fill the night. Wolves howl in the distance. And people chant and dance....
Papa is home..... The prodigal returns......
I know we promised tales of Conrad's kill. But we do not create these things. We merely channel them. Perhaps tomorrow will be different.
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