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PostPosted: Sun Aug 17, 2003 1:10 am
Gritty sounds of bent pitch forks searching for the delicacy hidden just below the wet sand, lovers caught in the moment easily moving along the waters' edge. A pleasant feel of wet cool sand forced between their toes, exchange of smiles giving promise of a warm evening embrace.
Fog . . . only whispers but threatening to bring the moment of simply being to an end. Maybe just awhile longer, the shore only a few hundred yards and we need only turn around to head back.
The moments pass bent over, the harvest teeming and time remains still. A glance over my shoulder and the demon is around us, suddenly the gentle lapping of the incoming tide turns to heart sinking gurgles of lungs filling with water. My heart beats louder than drums as my knees weaken and cold overtakes the pleasant warmth, the sand between my toes feel as cement, the salty smell of the Bay now reeks foul of fear and decay. Her loving smile appears to be laughing, laughing at a foul. Death has crept silently onto the sand flats

PostPosted: Sun Aug 17, 2003 1:14 am
"Fog . . . not good, we gotta go." I "watched" myself speak words that seemed so weak in comparison to my fear. My heart pounding and breathing labored, no one to fight and nothing to run from. Nowhere to hide and no option to wait, I move without sound and dwindling sensations. I remember the stories I heard as a child, souls lost forever on the tidal flats in sight of my window. Warnings and pleas to fear fog and tide. unheeded. Now they have united and the demon has formed, so silent so deadly.
My mouth goes dry and my vision narrows, a tidal river crosses along the route we seek. The current too swift and the demon cloaks the other shore. We change direction and she stops to pick up some shells, how will I prepare her for the death that seems more certain. Rivers or edging tide I can no longer distinguish, the circles we travel spiral us deeper into the demons' clutches. I talk to her about what I no longer remember, her tranquil smile not easing my pain. I had allowed us to be taken, I let the demon take form.
I turned and faced her to tell her our faith, as I looked in her eyes I heard sound a rhythm but not song or music. A rasp nor a beat, but a rhythm and a rhythm familiar. My ears no longer throbbed with sounds of my heart, I could see her speaking but she made no sound, she pointed her finger and took my hand. We walked for quickly and she held me close, all my senses were fading as we walked to our tent. When she covered me she spoke in a language not learned by her, my ancestors language with reassurance and love.
Around me where two lovers once camped on a land so beautiful, a once long forgotten burial site is reclaimed. Crosses erected where children and old lay buried, so many claimed by the cold and hunger, fleeing from their homes and cast from their beloved Arcadia. Music.... eased the sorrow and gathered the pride.
My lover heard music and followed it to shore, she left me in the tent and went for help. I had gone into shock and awoke in hospital.
I walk onto the sand, my aged feet welcome the soft sand between my toes. I sense I am drifting with the fog and the sound of the tide seems peaceful and calm. I meet her and we stroll through currents so warm. I know what is coming and her smiles eases my fears, she speaks in a language familiar as we move to the gathering.