I did this story for a contest in Olhão, the small fishing town where I come from, in the south of Portugal. [link]
It was a town of fishermen, supersticious as they always are. Poor people that stayed together. The ones who first rebel against the French invader, some 200 years ago.
Although today the town is walking towards the sad homogenization of shopping centers, car parks and fast food joints, many people try to keep the old spirit alive. There are endless small tales all related to the sea and the moors, the ancient owners of the land.
This story is about a misterious little boy who appeared to the fishermen late at night...
(during the production of this work I kept the Donnie Darko soundtrack on repeat)
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