I really am part whale. I want to do a movie like 'The Incredible

Host: The pier stretched out like a forgotten memory into the dark ocean, the boards beneath their feet damp with salt and moonlight. The waves rolled and broke in slow, thunderous breaths, leaving trails of white foam that shimmered under the sky’s cold silver.

It was late — the kind of hour when people have gone home but the sea still speaks. The wind smelled of salt, iron, and something ancient, as if time itself were sighing.

Jack stood near the edge, his hands deep in his coat pockets, his grey eyes reflecting the water’s rhythm. Jeeny sat on the wooden railing, her hair blown across her face, her voice soft enough to blend with the tide.

Host: Between them lay a small radio, crackling softly, replaying an old interview with the late comedian John Pinette. His voice, warm and slightly wistful, came through the static:
“I really am part whale. I want to do a movie like The Incredible Mr. Limpet and join a family of whales.”

The radio hissed, then went quiet.

Jeeny: (smiling) “There’s something so… innocent about that. Wanting to be part whale. To join something bigger. To belong.”

Jack: (half-laughs) “Or maybe it’s just escapism. A man tired of the world wanting to swim away. Trading humans for whales — sounds like a solid upgrade.”

Host: The wind picked up, rattling the old lamps that hung along the pier. A single seagull cried in the distance, its voice swallowed by the waves.

Jeeny: “You joke, but I think he meant it. Maybe not literally — but in that tired, funny way people talk when the world has worn them down. The idea of floating away, of not needing to explain yourself anymore.”

Jack: “So you think becoming a whale is a metaphor for peace?”

Jeeny: “Maybe. Whales don’t chase, they drift. They don’t have borders, bills, deadlines. They just… sing. You know, scientists say whales remember songs for generations. Imagine that — a whole species that carries memory through sound.”

Host: Jack’s expression softened. The moonlight caught the sharp line of his jaw, but his eyes — usually steely — looked almost tired.

Jack: “I get the appeal, sure. But we romanticize escape. Everyone wants to run — or swim — away from being human. We forget that whales have their own tragedies. They get hunted, beached, suffocated by our plastic. Even peace isn’t safe.”

Jeeny: (gazes at the waves) “Maybe that’s the point. Even knowing the pain, they still sing. They move together, protect each other. Humans forget how to do that.”

Host: A pause hung between them — heavy, thoughtful. The sea filled the silence with its steady, endless breathing.

Jack: “You really think we’ve forgotten how to belong?”

Jeeny: “Don’t you feel it? Everyone’s so connected and so lonely at the same time. We live in noise but starve for presence. Pinette probably just wanted what we all want — to be part of something that doesn’t demand performance.”

Jack: (quietly) “You mean love.”

Jeeny: “Not just love. Wholeness. A family of souls that moves like a pod — not competing, just existing together. That’s what whales have that we’ve lost.”

Host: The water below glimmered as a wave broke hard against the pier, spraying cold mist onto their faces. Jack didn’t flinch. Jeeny smiled.

Jack: “You make it sound so simple. But humans can’t live like that. We need conflict — friction. That’s how progress happens. A world full of content people singing in harmony sounds beautiful… and dead.”

Jeeny: “That’s what you always say. That struggle makes meaning. But what if meaning doesn’t need struggle? What if it’s already here — in the quiet, in belonging, in being allowed to drift?”

Jack: “Then why are we always running from it?”

Host: His voice cracked slightly, though the wind almost stole the sound away.

Jeeny looked at him for a long moment, her eyes reflecting the moonlight and the movement of the sea.

Jeeny: “Because we confuse stillness with failure. Because we were taught that if we stop swimming, we drown. But whales rest while they float. They trust the ocean to hold them.”

Jack: (smiles faintly) “Trust the ocean. That’s a dangerous metaphor for someone who’s spent his life building boats.”

Jeeny: “And maybe that’s why you’re tired, Jack. You’ve been trying to stay above the water your whole life. Maybe what you really need is to sink — not to die, but to dissolve a little. To stop fighting gravity.”

Host: The radio crackled again, a faint echo of laughter — Pinette’s voice replaying a fragment:
“…join a family of whales.”

Jeeny closed her eyes, as if the words themselves carried warmth. Jack stared at the dark waves, his brow furrowed, but his breathing slowed.

Jack: “You know, when I was a kid, I used to hold my breath underwater in the pool — try to see how long I could last. I liked the silence. The way sound disappeared. It was the only place that didn’t ask me for anything.”

Jeeny: “That’s what he wanted. To live in that silence. To belong to it.”

Host: The wind softened. The clouds parted, revealing more of the moon, which painted the surface of the sea with a molten, shifting silver.

Jack: “Maybe we’re all part whale then. Maybe deep down, we’re made for that silence — for the pull of something vast and wordless.”

Jeeny: (whispers) “Maybe. Maybe we remember the sea the way a song remembers its first note.”

Host: Her voice drifted into the air, delicate as sea spray, and for a moment, even the waves seemed to slow their rhythm, as if listening.

Jack looked out at the horizon, his eyes reflecting the moonlit tide — that eternal dance of movement and surrender.

Jack: “So maybe it’s not about running away from humanity. Maybe it’s about remembering the part of us that never left the ocean. The part that knows how to sing.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. We carry the sea inside us — in our blood, in our salt, in our longing. We’ve just forgotten how to listen.”

Host: A faint smile crossed Jack’s face, rare and unguarded. The radio finally went silent, but the echo of Pinette’s gentle humor lingered — like a ghost of laughter over the water.

Jeeny stood, brushing the salt from her hands, and turned toward the edge of the pier.

Jeeny: “You know, maybe he wasn’t joking after all. Maybe he really did want to join them — not to escape life, but to remember what living feels like when you stop pretending.”

Jack: (nods slowly) “Maybe that’s the only real comedy left — finding peace in what everyone else calls impossible.”

Host: The sea shimmered beneath them, endless and alive, breathing in and out like a great sleeping creature. The two stood side by side, silent, listening to the ancient heartbeat of the world.

Above them, the stars blinked faintly, as if whispering back.

Host: And for that one small moment, they were not two humans standing on wood and regret — they were part of the deep, part of the song, part of the family that moves beneath the waves — where faith and humor, pain and belonging, all dissolve into the same vast blue silence.