We lock our doors whenever there's a boneless tide.

Written by JTB-685.

Once a month, the boneless arrives on the tide.

It's a force of nature, like quicksand.

You can't reason or argue with it.

All you can do is barricade your home and stay indoors.

Us islanders know when it's coming.

We recognize the signs.

Now and again, an outsider comes to visit and brushes off the warnings.

They think we're all simpletons, or in some sort of crazy calls.

When I was a kid, maybe seven or eight, a rich man from the mainland laughed in my mom's face when she told him

the boneless was on its way. Mom said half the island warned him to stay inside, but he didn't

listen. He even boasted about how he was going to leave his bedroom window open that night,

acting all smug like he was proving

how stupid we were. Now the nurses wipe his butt and spoon feed him three times a day.

It's hard to get away from the island. As a girl, I dreamed of leaving, of seeing the world.

But mom got sick and someone had to take care of her, so I quit school.

Next thing I knew, I was grown and married to another islander, a fisherman.

Fast forward a few years, married life didn't turn out quite how I had envisioned.

Unfortunately, Mom had a very what-will-the-neighbors-think attitude.

You see, here on the island, fishermen are well thought of.

They're like royalty.

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