Back for some more.
Believe it or not I actually enjoy doing this,
even if I am writing into the vast darkness. ;)
Today's prompt is "Write about high tide."
Just writing. :)
Let's see what I can come up with.
The world felt darker today. As if a thousand candles had been snuffed out all at once. I stood at the window while the wind howled and the sky wept at the loss.
Glenda was a woman of the world. A world that had turned its back on her. Once, she had been surrounded by friends and family. But now only her collection of old newspapers and pop cans kept her company. She lived by herself in a cardboard box by my house. I never saw it--but visitors told me. The would sit on the one stiff wooden chair in my room trying hard not to look at the tubes that entered and exited my body like some sort of symbiotic lover. When I asked about the woman who walked along the beach every day at the same time they would begin to fidget and stare intently at the yellowing wallpaper.
"Oh, you don't want to know about her..." they would say and quickly turned the conversation to the church bingo or the latest funeral.
But when I watched her walk along the beach, her dirty rags of vibrant colours blowing in the wind, I could sense her peace--her freedom. Often she would stop to watch the sun as it hovered like a red cough drop right about the horizon. She would leave her mark on the wet sand--footprints that looked tiny from my window.
I saw her again last night. It would be the last time. Edna, who always visits me on Fridays, was the one who told me the news. She clasped my frail blue veined hand in hers like a vice grip. Glenda had died in the night--most likely the years of living on the streets had done it.
Still it did not stop me from shuffling my ancient body over to the window. Looking out once again on the vast stretch of sand and sea. As I watched the tide come in I imagined those tiny footprints, that had left an imprint on my heart, being erased by the dark waters.