A Field of Jonquils

Los Angeles, May, 2003

Hard waves crashed on the sandy shoreline. Foam surged halfway up the beach to where Lane sat, frigid water brushing at his ankles before receding again. He stared intently at the reflection of daylight's last glow and twilight's first glimmer on the water at the edge of the horizon. The play of light drew his focus away from the cold metal blade in his palm.

Lane glanced down at the striated razor. It reassured him. The moment had come for his release. No more would he allow this world to drag him down, to tear at his heart, to claw at his soul. He'd read somewhere that those who ended their lives were doomed to repeat them, but that idea was more comforting than terrifying. If he could do it again, he'd make different choices. Better choices.

He rolled the sleeves of his lightweight jacket up to his elbows, then raised the blade to the inside of his right wrist and pressed the steel into his tender flesh. The blade sliced sweetly into his skin, bringing not the pain he had expected, but relief from the anguish of knowing there was nothing left in this world for him. If he moved the blade a bit further to the right, he would sever the artery.

He paused to look one last time at the water. A glimpse of white against the red-tinged sea grabbed his attention. Lane shifted his gaze to the right where an old, crumbling pier fought the destructive force of the waves. The air swirled around him for a moment, then rippled as if he was looking through the heat left by a jet's engines. He spotted a woman in a white dress walking out of the waves smashing against the wooden support posts. Red hair tumbled down her back, reflecting the bright orange glow of the sun's last moment. The ocean breeze teased the hem of her dress around her calves. Surrounded by water, she looked completely dry. How was that possible?

She continued up the beach toward him, then passed by without a word, without even turning her head toward him. He followed her path with his gaze, noticing that the sand had remained undisturbed beneath her feet. She left no footprints.

All material copyright 2005, Selene Silverwind.
Available through Spilled Candy publishing

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