Another writer's prompt. 😳 (Image from unknown source. Accreditation welcome!)
...
Every day at the lighthouse fell into a pattern of illusory normalcy. They ate, walked on the rocky beaches, slept, each of them unwilling to admit what they had seen.
It was the Atlantic ocean, not Loch Ness. Such things could not happen, anyway. Sea monsters and mermaids did not exist. Imaginations had taken a leave from regular senses, that was all.
Salt breezes and sea birds went about their ordinary lives, whirling through patterns too complex to chart. Nightly bonfires ceased; the darkness had its realm, and the television screen was no part of it.
Let Gilligan and the crew of the S.S. Minnow soothe the psychic collective, it went without saying among them. And let no one speak of the reeking carnage caught in the shifting tides at the edge of the north cove.
Scratching idly around the bandages on his left arm, Sim cursed under his breath. Maybe the rest of them could forget, but he could never unsee her face. Nor could he deny the scars he would carry the rest of his life.
He pulled the carved bone sliver from his pocket, staring at the intricate design for the millionth time. Sea wrack, it was not.
Sera pulled it out of his arm that night, her eyes wide and dark, pressing it silently into his good hand. "I'd tell you to forget her, except you won't," she said. Her voice was low, sad.
When he awakened next, Sera was gone. She would survive on the mainland.
He could not go back. The sea held a part of him forever, blood, and bone. His heart, too.
In Davey Jones' locker lived a warrior maiden fair. It was a thought too bitter for laughter, too sweet for tears.
Tonight, he would write the song. Perhaps he might live long enough to hear her sing it for his mortal ears just one time.
Clenching chilled fingers around the bit of blade, he ignored the tickle of dripping blood. An offering to the sea was well within what he would pay to spend an hour with her just once more.
No comments:
Post a Comment