Timeless endings

Some where in southern England

The pier,

06:48AM

A man stood, motionless, thinking quietly. Just thinking, nothing much, the usual pensive thoughts were something the mysterious soul enjoyed. The cool wind caressed his skin as the sea rocked back and forth, relaxing the adolescent within. The sun was beginning to rise and the amber flowed across the sky as if a vivid dream.

“A beginning of a new day?” thought the man, while the rotting boards beneath him creaked under the pressure of age and torment. He noticed a small boat, ready to embark on its new journey along the blue haze, and the excited, yet cautious salmon group swimming into the depths. He thought again, how tranquil the harbour was, admiring both the view and memories it possessed. His coat flapped against his back from the whistle of the wind, and he was instantly plunged into the dark abyss of his torments.

****

The Hotel,

06:50AM

A man in black stood calmly as he watched the young professor on the edge of the pier. He must have been around thirty. He wasn’t given much information but the cheque was waiting. The thought of how he would use it made him grin. Widely.

****

The Pier,

06:53AM

He noticed that the sky had become much darker, and as he looked at the salmon group he had previously examined, he realised that they no longer swam. Corpses of the fish floated on the surface of the water and the sea gulls no longer cried their morning harmony. A flock of shadowed ravens effortlessly zoomed across the scene and a cold, metallic stench filled the air. Images, actions, emotions, friends, family, all rushed into his mind like an angry tsunami engulfing his brain. Never stopping. Never pausing. All the while torturing his inner soul.  Flash backs occurred, too many times for him to endure, but one thing always stuck out.

“Don’t stop Michael…Whatever you do, don’t stop running. Never look back Mike. Look at me!” He shouted, the cold air enforcing his very word “Hold that tight and forget about me. You hear me Michael, that things gonna save us all one day…” the ghost memory faded. 

The world slowly crept back into Michael as he cried, on and on, his dark deep eyes shifting across the narrow space provided by the body until he finally composed himself. He sighed. It was properly morning now and the sea gulls flew across the orange canvas. They were only abandoned memories, he thought, gnawing the prison they were left in while toying with his conscience. He looked into the eyes of the great blue beneath him and thought how peaceful the water was. The waves and fish caused the water to ripple as he thought deeply. The water looked so simple, but the man knew from decades of work that they were so much more than an abundant liquid. Churchill was not the hero London thought it was. No one was ever who they seemed, the human race lived under a silk covered blanket. He looked up though, always up. The starry night was a favourite, something he had grown accustomed to. His eyes wandered as he recalled how Van Gogh had committed suicide, so talented yet so pushed.