1.

She had been sitting in her old throne at the seashore for ages.

Little waves licked her feet like puppies she no longer noticed.

She had been there for so long that she didn't even remember when she had sat down in her throne in the first place.

"The tide is low tonight," she thought as she fidgeted with her wrist band. Not that she cared too much. Her remarks to herself were perfunctory, a way of dealing with herself and her boredom.

She might have walked away, if only did she remember how to stand, and where to go.

Someone, some day, had handed her a key, and led her to the throne.

She remembered that much. All the rest was guesswork.

The high tide had left behind sticks, shells, and an old leather bag, or what remained of it.

Inside, she had found paper scraps with partially legible lines that looked like what was left of old letters, written in a discoloured ink.

The sea had gnawed at the bag, chewing away bits and pieces. There also was a handful of pictures: a man and a woman holding each other's arms, a toddler just in front of them; the toddler playing with a white puppy; an old man staring out of a window onto a deserted square in summer, judging from the lush trees.

Who were those people?

Why had the sea brought those faces to her attention?

She shrugged. She had no clue.

2.

The moon rose like a silver sickle waiting to harvest the green sea waves.

She shuddered in her unmovable throne.

Come rain or tempest, she would be there, waiting.

What was she waiting for?

Who was she waiting for?

She had forgotten that too.

She intoned a song about a girl who had lost her lover in the war:

She waited long, she waited in silence.

He never came back.

Over his bones grow forget-me-nots.

A shriek pierced her ears and her sad tranquillity. She looked up.

No seagulls flew overhead.

3.

"There she is," one of the men cried.

The driver pulled up.

Two of them went towards her from the street.

"Careful," said one, "she may have a knife on her."

The other nodded.

The ambulance siren continued to shriek.

4.

Strange white-clad men were coming for her.

With hands on her ears, she closed her eyes.

As they dragged her away, she clutched the leather bag, and continued to sing.

More Stories You May Like

More from Astrea Sophia Gold