Beyond the horizon, beneath the clouds, there's a flicker, in and out of perception. I squint, my irises glazed by an off-white film, reflecting the light. Then - a single ray pierces through. Sharp. Sudden. I sway under the lightning attack, a paroxysmal tear escapes. I should be blinded.
The wind sweeps over the sea, its soothing rhythm brushing my reddened face, just like the waves sloshing ashore. It claims the dampness from my cheek, weaving it into its essence. Sand and water grate like sandpaper, peeling skin from muscle, then muscle from bone. I should feel scared.
The seabirds wheel above me, a greedy hunger in their pertinacity. Their hollow screams become an echo that loses significance. As indigo depths claim what remains of me, coldly engulfing beyond the horizon of who I once was, the flicker dims.
I should think I'm lost.
