Written by George D. Verlander
It was a dirty old town this one, situated contiguous to
the ocean, where off in the distant a storm was forming slowly, but surely. The
boardwalk was empty except for the occasional plastic bag that floated past
graphitized walls, trapped in the gust of the strengthening winds. In the high
street a bus which read “no service” rattled along, it’s driver weary eyed from
the long graft of yesterday’s labor. The windows, intoxicated in steam from the
inside radiator, where no longer transparent. Near the front of the bus a
lavender coloured light erected out onto the street outside, its glimmering
shade dousing closed newsagents, launderette and takeaway establishments in a
murky radiance. The bus gave off a ghoulish façade at this time in the morning,
one that became the living embodiment of nightmarish thoughts had by young
children. As the bus drew nearer the horrendous noise of the engine resonated
in the air, waking up a homeless man that lay in a nearby doorway of a café
shop. “Hey you mug some of us, us guys are… are trying to sleep!” the tramp
hollered. The bus continued on, oblivious to its inconsiderate journey. The
tramp sat up in his filthy green sleeping bag. It was creased, ripped in
various crevasses identifying how it had often been used to provide the man
with a bed for the night atop of the chewing gum plastered pavements
underneath.
He wasn’t a very old man, although the patched beard
that grew out around his face disguised his middle-aged features, making him
appear older if you scrutinized his face. However, most of the time this was
not an issue, as passers by ignored his pleas for small change or hot food
during the day, going about their business with their important lives. His
face, grim and mustered with dried dirt, was the face that had once known great
happiness. But that was evidently gone now, a whisper of his former self. His
green eyes were peculiar and sparkled like luxurious emeralds. They somehow
seemed displaced within his cavern-like sunken eye sockets that had the mystery
of treasure deep within its shadows, swallowed by hard stone. The tramp rubbed
his hands together gingerly that had begun to shake, the fingerless gloves
failing to protect his fingertips from the cold night air that bit at him like
a ravenous dog. Beside him he kept a tattered rucksack, littered with holes.
Apart from the very clothes on his back, inside the bag contained the last
possessions he had in the world.
He dragged the bag close to him, struggling to open the
zips with his trembling hands. From it he drew first an old wooly hat that he
quickly placed upon his greasy, unwashed hair, in a desperate attempt to retain
some heat that was quietly slipping from his body. It wasn’t much help but at
least it kept his head cosy in the consistent decreasing temperature. As he
looked up from the doorway he noticed how clear the sky looked tonight. No
clouds shielded the brilliant gaze of the moon. The full sphere shined brightly
down upon him, amongst tiny silver diamonds that glinted every so often,
basking in the never-ending abyss of the skies. A tear formed in his eye as he
brought his right hand up to his brow, making no attempt to wipe it away.
Gradually the tear trickled down his face, until it finally disintegrated into
nothing within his stubble.
His cracked lips, that hid away his chattering yellowed
teeth, began to tremor as he struggled to cast back bitter and harsh memories
from his mind’s eye. He looked shamefully down towards his bag.
The second item he withdrew was a near-empty bottle of
Jack Daniels. Bronze coloured dregs sloshed around playfully at the bottom of
the glass, as if they were almost teasing him. Unscrewing the lid he raised the
bottle upwards, toasting an apparent person, place or thing, although he
himself was not quite sure these days, which were invisible around him. The
heavens gazed back down upon him with a sense of sorrow.
He drank the whisky impulsively, savoring the flavor in
his mouth. It would be a long time before he could save up for another one. The
charity of civilians was hard to come by.
After he had finished the last essence of the bottle, he
gently screwed the cap back on, and with that violently flung it into the road.
A loud smash followed as glass flew into the gutter. But no one was there to
hear it, and only silence answered. The tramp drew up his legs to his chest in
a last ditched effort to keep warm, the clear sky overhead now gone from the
incoming storm. He could not lie down in the doorway now as rain begun to pat
on his sleeping bag. He would have to sleep upright again tonight. In the
street the heavy wind barged against shutters that rang out every so often when
two pieces of metal came in contact with each other. The tramp hobbled out from
underneath his shelter, peering to see if there was anything he could eat for
his dinner. He examined a nearby pile of trash. Finished cans and sweet
wrappers lay abandoned, tipped out from bins by bored youths the previous day,
that had been left idly on the floor. No one had bothered to pick them up. But
there was nothing there, so he gave up the search. He begun to shiver fiercely
now, internally frozen, his heart bitter with frost, from the weather and the
hate for how the world seemed so unfair. He returned to his bed for the night,
until morning when the owner would kick him off the property. He was running
out of places to stay in this town.
Finally he took the final item from his bag, in the same
order he did every single night. He held the metal in his hand caressing it
with his fingers, smiling at it as tears once again stung in his eyes. The wine
red ribbon had been snapped, and tender threads hung loosely from it,
threatening to expand and shorten the material. He was still proud of it
however, regardless of its appearance. Proud of himself. Proud of the men that
were apart of it. Proud of the glorious dead that forever slumbered because of
it. He slurred the words out aloud.
“F, for, Var-lour in de face… off the en-em-my”
He half grinned, half sobbed himself to sleep, clutching
onto the Victoria Cross medal that had been awarded to him, a long time ago
when he had meant something to the world that now had forgotten him.
The rain bore down upon the town, heavy, but not strong
enough the wipe clean the streets submerged in the storm. The waves rose and
fell mightily in great tides, scattering sea mist along the barren shore.
Overhead the air roared like a majestic lion, the void between the powerful
ocean and jet-black skies uncertain. The clouds consumed the town in a thick
dark aquatic hellfire.
In another part of town, close to the sea, howling could
be heard. Although it was not from an animal's throat, the resonance was in
fact animalistic. The tempest thundered like a caged demon. However inside the
house a demon itself had been released within a man. It had crawled out if its
bottomless pit, twisting and torturing his soul until all that remained was an
insoluble rage. Its fangs, sharp and grotesque, scratched at everything,
devouring anything in its path. It's claws, dark and ungodly, splintered doors
effortlessly off their hinges, decimated floorboards and scarred walls inside
the house, tearing down ornaments and tarnishing photographs as it roamed the
lonesome halls and corridors.
Lightening continued to streak across the somber sky,
illuminating briefly the animal's reflection in a windowpane. Rain bombarded
against it. Another shot burnished his reflection, momentarily confusing the
savage. Confusion filled him, unable to decipher the droplets of rain outside
which fell effortlessly down the glass, from the creature's very own tears that
fell burning against his cheeks. His eyes were red and swollen, hot and heavy
with grief. But it was the look that shone out from them that was most fearful.
To the thing the entire colours of the universe had been drained out of
existence. Only Grey remained.
The storm finally ceased, returning the sullenness of
the town immediately. It’s clouds drifted onto tomorrow, a new day, until it
would finish and dissolve into the atmosphere. It was a certain endless circle
of life.
The scarlet eyes were both exhausted and sore. Before
first light hit he decided to take a walk, to go anywhere, but not to remain
here. There were too many emotions within this home that he was petrified to
face yet. He put on his ash-tinted woolen coat, carefully rapping the navy
scarf that he had received as a present once upon a time, around his neck to
cover up the blisters and cuts he had self-inflicted a few hours previous.
The young man walked alone silently along the boardwalk
in the dying darkness, its surface slippery from the nights encounter with the
storm. It would be another day tomorrow. The same as the last, and the same as
the day previous to the one before. The same people who hated their animals
would walk the same dogs out and about, passing the same shops that were daily
opened and closed by the same people who never wanted to own a shop, giving up
their dreams long ago, and they would refuse to serve the same homeless people
who sat in the same door steps and alleyways constantly thinking the same
thought of how wrong the world is and how false the faith they had once pledged
themselves to had failed them. But somehow, he would never be the same. He was
struggling to accept that.
He sought to walk aimlessly, but he knew where his was
feet were directing him. To that place where they had first encountered each
other, so long ago it seemed to him now. The sands squirmed underneath his
shoes, and stuck to the rubber. Behind him he left fresh footprints in the damp
ground as he trudged off the wooden embankment and onto the beachhead. It was
too quiet for his liking. No birds circled overhead, no people laughing or
joking. Ahead of him there was only the endless crash of waves, as they hit and
retracted, one after the other.
The ocean itself was a constant motion of brief,
dominating life. A force that rushed onwards, breaching everything in its way
until its life had no more energy to draw upon. And it was also a never ending
eternal inevitability, that once this same life force was drained it would seep
back down and regenerate itself looking for another adventure. The current
surged forwards, each ripple overlapping and making a unique and perfect sound,
until crystal white waves lapped at the shoreline uncontrollably.
Here he was then. It was the pivotal point where life
had brought her too him. When he got there he stood, right on the edge of the
sands just before the waves could reach him. Here he felt secure. The most
secure he had felt in an age. The sands, although maneuverable, held him
tightly in place and kept him safe from the cold, ungraspable ocean before him.
The divide between land and sea was fine; yet vastly extreme he couldn’t help
but notice a poetic irony, as if nature itself had a funny sense of humor. Of course
it had. He was sure of it. His phobia of the water had restricted him from ever
indulging in its icy depths. Had she thought less of him because of it? He
wondered, but would never know. Next to him the ghosts of the past played out
their roles like they had done often so recently as he revisited moments of
closure. The sea once again breached the pebbles, decreasing the space between
it and the man. He glanced at her again; staring at him with a smile that was
so pure it must have been molded by God personally. He saw himself also, how it
had been that year ago when they had met here for the first time. It seemed to
last an age, and just a single second. The wind rolled across, the specters of
the past decomposing along with an angelic invisible force, until they where
dust that fell softly to the ground. Untouchable.
The last thing he remembered of her was that
heart-stealing smile, and without objection or defiance, he was a prisoner of
her charm once more.
The man let out a long, lonesome cry, flooded with pain
and adoration, which echoed out across the shore, over the swelling waves until
it was so powerful it must of reached heaven itself.
When his isolated scream of anguish halted, no soul
answered his despair, and the earth was lifeless once more.
And with that he was the saddest man in the world.
