muted

depths

you hear ringing downstairs. there's no phone by the bed and no way you'd reach the ringing one in time. who'd be calling at 10am on a friday morning? ok, someone is leaving a message now. shit. you wanted to sleep more but you get out of bed and head for the kitchen. the new message button is blinking so you push it.

"hi steve. it's kim's mom. not sure if you're home or not but i wanted to let you know that my husband is coming over in 10 minutes to put the ceiling fan in the bedroom. he has a key."

fuck. you don't know why, but you can't be here when he arrives. you throw some clothes on your body and a hat atop your head, grab your keys and you're out the door.

you soon discover that you're heading for the beach. the journey towards the beach reminds you of nice weekend drives with kim/the others before and after you moved down here. way to go, fuckface.

when you arrive at the parking lot, you notice that the ratio of unused spaces to used ones is 250 to 1. you exit your car and begin walking towards the sand. the raw, damp loneliness is amplified by the water.

you stop at the edge of the wet sand and stare out at the ocean. the wind keeps whipping your hood against the back of your head so you give in and pull it up over your hat. you watch the waves rhythmically crash onto the sand. your heartbeat accelerates. your mind races.

sure, it'd be freezing and slow and painful and excrutiating but the opportunity is staring you in the face. walk straight ahead and let the water swallow you up just as this island has.