All Washed Up

Centuries of pounding waves have carved a bowl out of the black rock face. Riddled with barnacles, it appears as the night sky flecked with the light of countless distant galaxies. The rough, granular surface contrasts boldly against the vibrant green algae shag carpeting which smoothes the boulders at the sea’s edge. In between sits a man who has been equally hollowed by the raging sea. He came to this place not to seek solace but to wallow in suffocating anguish. Surrendering to his torment, he contorts his body into the fetal position. He sits as naked as a snail plucked from its shell, and equally as vulnerable, readily awaiting his turn to be gobbled out of existence.

He holds his legs steadfastly; his face obscured by his knees. He relishes in his aching muscles and in the discomfort of his surroundings. His expression is contorted as he closes his eyes firmly to keep out the salt air whose sting is like that of iodine in a fresh paper cut. It tastes of the night air when he used to walk these shores with the one he loved. His once neatly tamed black hair is now matted down and clumped together, allowing the salty brine to run off as it does from a sea bird’s oily foliage. He sits atop a carpet of algae covered stone; his leanly muscled body pale and helpless against his dark existence.

In front of him lie a scattering of boulders of various shapes and sizes that were violently rejected by the sea. Some are velvety green and others smooth and exposed like unfledged chicks. The cracks in the stone wall behind him radiate out from where he sits at the center, framing him against the struggle of nature. The sun shines brightly but he is unable to feel its affection. A cold shiver races up and down his spine forcing involuntary convulsions and he senses his helplessness.
His muscles taught, he anticipates the next crashing blow which promises to drag him to the murky depths of the unforgiving beast that has robbed him of his desire. The sounds of the approaching fury assure him that his breath will recede with the tide. Each passing minute of existence tortures his conscience and poisons his mind with feelings of guilt. For a moment the sad cry of a lonely gull taints the air with a haunting recollection but it is quickly snuffed out by the roar of the surf as the frothy mix slams into the wall, shattering his existence.