Shifting Sands

The future laughs maliciously, cackling wildly; with splayed, tapping fingers raised in a steeple before her eyes. I will have you soon, she whispers, soon you will be mine.

We’re digging up the beach. Moving the sand around, fighting the sea’s art. Its better this way, we say. It’s better when it’s us that decide. We’re digging up the beach today, let’s not waste any time.

The twelfth hour has sounded, but we’re still going strong. My body burns with something akin to exhaustion, but the greed keeps me pumping. One, two; What shall we do? three, four; lets do one more, five six; got my fix. Half way done now, half way there. Sprinting a Marathon.

The little old men are back, but now they’re walking. Still, that one cigarette between them, still they don’t say a word. What is left to say after fifty years of friendship? What is there left to say when you believe everything worthwhile has already been said?

He found her hiding place. He discovered where her sadness went. It collected and congealed, forming into something unrecognisable and all the more dangerous for that. He caught her losing herself; showed it to her the next day. That’s not me, she claimed; no it isn’t, he answered, that is a monster.

His heart packed its bags and booked a flight home. It had had enough. It would wait for him there; at home, at the breakfast table. Maybe read the paper, go for a run. He could understand, after all he’d put it through a lot of shit. Better they go their separate ways for a while, maybe see other people. His chest wouldn’t stop bleeding.