Sea Foam

AUTHOR’S NOTE-

This story is sad. Don’t read it if you cry easily. Real talk though. There is a puzzle/dark meaning hidden in this story. I think I’ve hidden it well, but in the comments/reviews below, please put WHY you think she makes the choice she does at the end. Put SPOILERS so others can figure it out!

-Ingrid

There’s a tale of a girl who threw herself into the ocean to avoid her fate, and melted into sea foam at the first touches of the dawn’s light. Reality does not carry such mercies. In the morning, much will remain behind.

There is darkness all around me, and I cannot tell the difference between earth, water and sky. The world is shades of black and dark gray, like the swirling mud of my thoughts. I sigh, wriggling my bare feet down, down into the sand below me. The sand is warm between my toes with the dying heat of the day, but not warm enough to stave off the cold in my heart, vibrating out through my limbs as I shiver under my sweatshirt. The wind tears across all, and it’s impossible to hear, but twice as possible to think. Clarity is afforded when all but the most stubborn of thoughts are blown away in the gale.

There is no moon, but I do not need one. Ragged shreds of cloud rush and tumble past the few stars I can see when I look up, but I do not, I am focused only forward, on the lines of the pier. The wind whips my hair -hair that is dry and caked with salt- through my eyes, but tonight it does not bother me. Nothing bothers me here, at the edge of time.

Staring out, it seems to me that I can almost make out the distant place where the water and sky connect, the water a mere shade darker than its counterpart. The light from the hotels, a poison in the far distance from me on either side, is bleeding into the sky, causing cancerous white patches against the beautiful dark clouds. The humanity in them destroy the perfect loneliness of my moment, but not the moment in my heart. I lean my head back, letting the wind tell me the story it carries across the seas, blowing in across the vast dark expanse. It tells me of far off ships, of exotic lands, of escape that I could reach if I had a way. I do not.

I can still feel the pain inside me, the pain that sickens and twists, weakens and destroys. The pain of life, and the pain of death. I breathe slowly, accepting it, feeling it, allowing it, before I stoop to touch the rocks by my side, the cold water of the oncoming tide rushing between my toes. All will come to peace, in the end. My world must never be shared.

--

When I enter the store, I have twenty five cents in my pocket, and twenty dollars on my mind. There are things I need, and I will leave the store with them, paid or unpaid. My kleptic mind seeks that which I can conceal so easily in the linings of my coat or the loose pockets of my cotton shorts. My hand flitters over the display counter, admiring, gently brushing, and pocketing small items of interest.

I pause, leaning against a display to cough weakly into my hand. It’s getting worse, the sickness, and I don’t know why. I have my suspicions though, and it’s why I’ve come to this place, with its harsh lights, loud music, talking advertisement displays and everything I hate about humanity lumped into one location. I long for the feeling of the wind as I casually walk down the aisles, change jingling in my pocket.

I find what I’m looking for, and carefully, discreetly open the box. I need only one, plus I can’t fit a whole box into my pocket. The pink wrapper crinkles slightly as I slide it from the box up my sleeve with barely a noticeable motion. I let go, pushing it behind others of its kind, and move on, humming as I pause to inspect a bland medical item I pretend to care about, while a worker in a blue vest passes. I walk towards the entrance of the cursed place, when I pause for a moment by a front counter box.

Inside are a sea of tiny metal turtles with laminate green shells. They are the sweetest, most tiny, most precious little charms I’ve ever seen, and the cold pain that has clenched below my stomach releases slightly as I remove one from the box, petting its tiny smooth shell with one finger. I know it’s cheaply made and there are thousands like it, but somehow, this one is mine. It stays nestled in the palm of my hand as I leave the store, still in possession of my twenty five cents.

--

Two lines are all that matter to me now, as sit with my feet dug into the hot sand, my skin burning in the bright light, staring at my tiny turtle. The wind, such a blessing this morning, holds no comfort for me now. All that reverberate in my mind are the harsh words spoken by those around me, to me, to each other, to themselves. Why would anyone choose such a life? I know there are other families, families around me with lives so much less toxic than the one I share with these individuals, but neither I nor they seem to comprehend that we too could share such a fate.

The only question in my mind as I sit quietly, is if one should die or two. There is no question of life for all. Such a luxury is for other families, those who speak tender words, and give gentle touches. I stare out slowly over the water, I realize that one is not enough for the hungry surf. Besides, I only have twenty five cents. How would I make the payment for which all humanity would ask? Only one answer lies before me, and I accept it with the calm of the clouds before a storm.

--

There is darkness all around me, and I cannot tell the difference between earth, water and sky. I can see the pier though, and I stay closer to my side of it. I am aware of pain, pain beyond my poison and sickness, and stark fear twisting my heart, but the mistakes I’ve made must be paid for. The black waters will wash away the fear, if I give them time. I hold the little metal turtle in my shaking hand, and its smooth shell comforts me as I circle it with my thumb. I use it to ground me to reality. A child’s decoration, how fitting. But I cling to it for comfort none the less.

I step into the water, and shudder at the shock of the cold as the darkness laps over my feet. The stone in the sand besides is rough and heavy, but the rope makes it easy to hang onto. I wade deeper, and now the surf crashes over my knees, the dirt and grit brushing against my legs. The wind whips faster, as if it senses that its sound is cathartic to my ears, soothing and calming my beating heart. Humanity will not know, but the wind will carry my story.

Quietly, with the strength that remains in my shaking hands, I tie the rope around my neck and lift the rock from the surf at my feet. It takes two hands to carry as I wade deeper, the cold, shocking water soaking my shorts. I feel the tiny weight of the turtle in my pocket, pressed against my leg, and it reminds me again why I am doing what must be done. I am now shoulder deep in the water, struggling to breathe with each rush of the waves. I will be beyond their reach soon.

I say a last goodbye to the stars before I drop the rock down into the surf, my head following it under as the rope tightens around my throat and I vanish beneath the cold. I can no longer tell what is up, and what is down, the liquid night shifting through me, striking me, and pressing me. I know fear, but also relief, that the pain is over now, and I have not brought more to bear in its grasp.

Perhaps I too will turn into foam.