The fine grain sands of the Peninsula Paracas worked their way into the crevices between Alejandro’s toes; a disquieting and comforting sensation. He had sworn he would never leave Pisco — he had been born here, raised here, orphaned here and he would, one day, die here. A condor flew overhead, its caw a familiar call for the boy to hear.

The green-blue waves of the ocean started infringing more and more upon the beach; the breakers around Perú weren’t stopping the waters as they once did. And then he noticed it: trout — huge trout from Chile — were migrating and jumping from the waves.

Then the tremors started; the ground vibrating in an unnatural way. Alejandro noted a shadow looming over the ocean’s horizon; a mountainous form obscuring the sun… and it seemed to move towards him, massive tendrils wriggling about from beneath its apex.

Alejandro was frozen in fear as it continued to approach.

“Dios, ahórranos, rescata nos del mal,” were Alejandro’s final words.

But none were left nearby to hear them.