Anxiety

The sun dressed my skin in the warm glow of morning.

19th July- Afternoon

In a small coastal town situated in the lower-right quadrant of a bay, is the space I reside in. There is no-thing in particular that gives me a sense of belonging here, here was just what was. There is the coastal town itself, a former decorated resort before the war economic changes in the form of gradual decline and globalisation lead to travellers going further afield. All that remained; stayed and slowly over the course of time what stayed, ceased-defunct. There is an enigmatic property to these rural towns, some untapped history of value, hiding in the sheer red cliffs and the lumbering pines that overhang them these giants rise above the shore, mussels greet the tide from their sleepy seaweed digs against vivid red sands which give way to abyssal calm waters, contrasting themselves to an endless sky. At dawn the sun rises skyward from the ocean-depths taking its mantle on the horizon, directly above a holy-white aisle only a fool would think they could touch the altar.

People rarely pray on these shores, they see this space like any other, empty, with no trade-off or bargain, there is little reason for them to come here, just children accompanied by parents, pairs of elderly pilgrims succumb solo and pay homage to what was, is, lest this be their final duty. Lastly to visit is me.

The town has small café’s which serve sub-optimal food, sandwiches, cream teas, signature cigarette ash coffee. I come here occaisionally, not for any particular reason other than to be. Stock-empty shop windows look back onto sparse bridleways, curious onlookers stare into their hollowed-out shells where they once stood, bringing back memories of what once was and reminding themselves of what they missed, they mourn the possibilities they never considered, now it’s gone. And yet, here, there is such life, if only I could call out and greet it, point to it in the trees and the plants, see it soar across the sky and proclaim to the people, “Don’t you see it?! Isn’t it beautiful?!” A cool wind carries a discarded paper bag across my feet, it dispenses me a stained takeaway cup, offended I get up and walk from the clutter on my beauty. Filth.

Across the road from the park is the florists, a young woman works there, Sophia, she is affectionate and kind. Every time she smiles, pleasant memories are drawn up of pasts that exist only in feelings. I was purchasing flowers for my mother’s anniversary when I met her. She seemed too intelligent and transcendent to this world, it was as if her mind existed purely beyond her corporeal form. She could wonder other plains entirely, of course, I ..

I visit the flower girl occasionally and see her change; hallmarks mainly; events, righting wrongs of past mistakes. I observe her hair as I wait for her custom, light brown locks, thick-healthy. Her slight curls are consistent over time, evolving once from long to a short bob maybe she dyes it, I couldn’t care-less, she appears to have an avant-garde fashion, something which I imagine is on the continent, plain necklaces under silver earrings, trousers and tops usually modest in colour/length; the exception being the longer days of summer. Her glasses are thicker now. She transitioned from her twenties to her thirties the same as myself. I see forefront joie de vivre, engaging smiles, familiar greeting, knowing looks; it's as if she could speak to my very soul would she choose to. Would I let her? Would she let me? Who decides to display themselves in the vastness of vulnerability?!

And yet then as always, when I come back here; after the familiarity is gone, there is an awkward pervasive silence- a quiet intrusive state of utter discontent. Potentials realise themselves in the finite whilst actualities dream of infinity; this. is. We had aged, clearly still young in the mortal sense, to the cosmos, even younger.

I can’t say I looked for a ring, I can’t say I saw her romantically, nor did I know her actual age. Sophia's existence is a mere curiosity which I feel there should have been more to explore upon. Does some understanding lay beyond the life of her name? Alas, what is more? isn’t. That isn't is superfluous, just like that superfluousness I shall pen that there. Maybe more later.

The day something changed, is the day I found this book, I climbed the coastal path and headed towards the cove. The cove is beautiful, seldom visited, hidden among wild-flowers and trees which break free of glistening white rocks that verge against the sea. All around this area, meadows, trees, insects, birds. Life! I walk the valley and experience dragonflies darting along tall grass, flowers stem their way to greet me and I sneeze for my allergies best me. I paused, I find you, a space in the grass not very wide parting invitingly. Initially, I thought, ‘good place for a dog to lose a stick’, at best a forgotten barrow turned council meeting place for the variety of wildlife and yet therein lay a little black notebook, palms-width, plain cover.

In my hand, its spine sat, slightly worn at the edges retaining its articulated composure, a satchel, ditched and sullied, sprawled off to one side, I wished not to look any further. Your pages appeared to be saturated, likely laying there collecting dew. I opened the book and sure enough, the ink had been made illegible on the first few pages, save scribbles in large font LJJW GWFH AC J-PS. I failed to apprehend their meaning; assuming it’s a code or initials. I cycled through the pages and noticed a consistent theme, all pages referred to the self as the centre of their writing. The person who wrote this must clearly have been a narcissist! The writings seemed so coercive, no, incoherent! I trusted that the author's unlikely to be someone that spent the night here hazed. With a few sticks at arm’s reach, I carefully emptied the contents of the bag.

4th August- Evening: After 8 o’clock

It has been fifteen days since I found this diary. I know that someone has been following me. It started as a sinking feeling not long after I emptied the bag, a momentary elation on discovery awaited me, before filling me with an inhumane dread thereafter. Inside I found an abandoned wallet, old currency trickled out daintily, a 1911 pistol, Rotary watch (pre-war) and miscellaneous paraphernalia: writing equipment, wet socks, torn and saturated pages; notes on something or other and a dirtied pocketknife, it smelled of iron. I kept most of the above and disposed of the bag a little ways off, far from where I found you. I hoped far enough away that no one would know, no one would find it again. I honestly considered going to the authorities, I could have explained the finding of the items but I didn’t, the town never changes, I am a treasure hunter, I found value.

Outside the walls of my house, I can hear rustling; someone who is not belonging in such a way, which not-belonging is surely infringing upon. They want it back! I have watched from my window and see the people on buses, unrecognizable.. Sometimes a reflection in the light of the gun. I can hear breathing down the back of my neck, sometimes.. Someone is following me, they’ve been following me since I left the beach, I know it. The pawnbroker knew it when they saw me with the watch, the coins, American, by todays rates, $20,000, even more once I took it to the chequers. The greed of the person who had this; could have helped the poor. The café teller could see their ugly face behind me as I purchased coffee, they knew something was wrong as I heard them say they had to leave before they called the police, they left before I could get a look.

I have no place to hide here; I can only go there. I must return to the beach and confront them. They must be there; they were there before me. Not here, no, here is where they want me to be. I will not suffer.

----------- Epilogue -----------

The cove is my last bastion against the horde that haunts me, in the howling quiet I move, purposeful unsteadiness, this ground is not the one I have known.

A towering jungle of thickets, menacing tall-grass awaits me, all stand undisturbed. Baiting me. This trap lies between myself and the shore.

Great pines climb and spur their way to the heavens, they snuff out stars, strenuous arms of great oaks reach higher than Atlas himself, outstretched fingers cast great nets and consume the light of the moon. These dark shadows and clever spaces, small sounds- something's in the bushes. It all stands to trick me, to frighten me, I will not be afraid-crack, I pelt forward.

Willows scatter tendrils towards Hell and pull at my essence, I breach past and they try to drag me under, little leaves razor-sharp along my body and around my chest, whispering and clawing at my nape, I mustn’t cry. I carry onward and exclaim!

Incongruent sounds drive the air from my chest, my heart races and I cease moving forwards. The angh is enveloping me it is rising from the very ground and impregnating the earth before me, I cannot stand any longer, I cannot see, this is a heart attack, my respiratory system-losing control, ‘functions are meaningless.’ I must move. Take a breath and see what lies beyond. I move forward again down the valley; the last of the jungle now. I reach the final battalion of woods.

I stable myself against a pine tree, it is calmer now. I can smell the pine, I feel the burr of the wood and the scales of its trunk- the skin on my hand clings to the wound of this bleeding tree. There are branches here, at my feet. Peculiar rocks, each could make a weapon if it called for it, I’m lost from my thoughts, my attention is called towards the smell of salt, the air is cooler now and the land lays bare its dry soil, I can hear waves receding before me, I breathe for what feels like an instantaneous eternity and cross the soil onto the sand.

I raise my gun to the sky and fire. Bang!, BANG!, bang.. In the dawning light... I realised and apprehended them. I had succumbed to fear and pointed my gun thusly. With shaking hands and wavering determination, my heart raced and rattled around my chest. Blood pulsated above my eyes and a tightness pulled my heartstrings holding me up by the hairs of my ears- I fired once. The action and ceasing as the quiet fell back in around me, my heart paused and breathing stagnated. It was suspense like none other. Tired, My body fell as the sound of the shore filed back in on itself as waves lapped the sand. It was an eternal quiet of inconsequence, the sea kept lapping, the wind kept breathing, dawn marched forward. As dawn kept marching. They left the shore and all remained. There was no time to reflect on my actions nor consider any other option for what I could have done, all there is, is and that is, actuality. now. Mistakes were made. I dreamed once more of change. I dreamed of Sophia and what I could have gained.

The sun lapped the shore, over waves, the light was dawning.

The sun dressed my skin; in the warm glow of mourning.