The Refuge

When they talk about me, they will call me a tragedy.

My tragedy will be the latest thriller.

Best seller.

Legend.

Myth.

I will live briefly in the spotlight. Famous not for my time but for how it was taken from me.

The deep crimson shade of my blood-now more out of my body than in- has already begun to morph into brown staining. Soon enough I will wash away. Deep cerulean ocean waves will come up around me sucking the last dribbling bits of my soul back into its depths. My name that comes so easily will be lost to time. My loved ones will struggle to recall the timbre of my voice, the curve of my face.

What was once so tangible, is now that of memory. Even now as I cling desperately to my hollow shell, I am slipping away.

They will nickname me something horrible. The girl in the sand. The body across the beach. Kitschy headlines will highlight my last moment. “Surfer snuffed out across the sandy shoreline.”

There was so much I had wanted to do. Things I always thought I would have the time to say. Such silly trivial things. I never told my sister I was proud of her.

Or my father that I loved him.

I never said good morning to my elderly neighbor who I was secretly convinced got the paper at the same time every morning as I did- just so he had someone to say hello too. Most mornings I would give him a curt nod. I could not even bother a conversation. I was too busy. Too important.

But look at me now.

Who I was no longer mattered. I do not get a tomorrow. My secrets will never be spilled; my heart never shared.

Well, my heart was shared, just against my will. The shredded pieces of it hovering somewhere around my shoulder.

It is ironic really. This beach has always been my haven. My refuge from the stresses of life. Now the sand is my shroud. The cool waves of the ocean my grave diggers.

Funny really. Everyone spouts the mantra that life is short. But they never really admit that life is cruel. The world is a harsh brutal place that will chew you up and spit you out. It thrives on your misery and breeds on your despair. What everyone should say is that the happiness of life is short. It is a long miserable road with brief firecrackers of joy. Flickers of happiness that manipulate you into craving the continuation of torture. So much so that when it fizzles out you feel cheated. Betrayed.

But why?

Why do we expect such a cruel dark place to embrace us with any modicum of respect? From our first cry to our final breath life does nothing but promise you of its cruelty.

Yet we are fools.

We allow life to reach out her greedy tricking fingers and laugh.

Smile.

Be happy.

Across the deep blue waves, the sun slowly descends.

My face is frozen in this direction. Looking out across the water, the horizon line glimmering in the distance. And there, bobbing along that untouchable line, is a ship. Too far to see the water causing the boat to bump and sway.

As he ripped open my chest and brought my insides out, I stared at that ship. Imagining its thick white sails gently swaying along with the slow up and drop of the waves. As I fell away into the arms of death, I was aboard the rocking vessel.

That became my true refuge in the end.