A Promising End? by Palabrino

Christina

In my wasteland the sea laboriously climbs the shore. Its delicate froth spends hours collecting the essence of freedom, only to be captured by the sand's mysterious depths.

I watch her billowing canary dress morph into combinations of twisted whirls and interrupted folds. Oblivious to the ocean's toils, she tramples its crystal crowns. Raising her arms to the cool breeze, her giggles burn the waning night.

Abruptly she turns from the horizon. Her eyes grasp for mine. They say 'come'. Mine answer 'how'. She turns. Wandering towards...I no longer know.

Leah

I had to turn away.

I wish I could describe her eyes. But, how do you explain nothing? How do you put into words emptiness bleaker than the prospect of crawling into a black hole? I simply refuse. Only a fool would choose to walk down that path once more. To be honest, I'm not sure I'm strong enough to walk into Uncertainty's arms for a second time.

Christina

My eyes swim through the morning mist lazily kissing her silhouette.

A familiar burn creeps behind my eyes. I close them, but they continue to sting. Through scorched words cloaked in inexplicable darkness, the past drowns the present.

I can't do this anymore. Why am I standing in the cold, when the horizon seems so warm?

Leah

"Shit!" I toss stone after stone into the sea. Again and again I bend at the waist, blindly digging for the perfect one. Again and again. Until...I stop. No longer frustrated. No longer tired. Just...done.

"Chloe?"

I spin around, arms protectively falling across my chest. I move deeper into the sea, the waves licking the back of my knees.

"I'm sorry."

You have no idea how quiet swallows an apology until you hear it against Poseidon's yawn.

Christina scrubs her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"I know." But knowing isn't enough. I look at her and realize my baby's gone. In her place stands a woman I barely know. Same creamy chocolate irises, adorably messed dreads, and impossibly thin lips. Yet, I look at her and see a slashed montage of perfection offered by a stranger's hand.

"I should have..." She rambles on. Her hands jump in and out of her back pockets. One of her feet rises, kicks at a rock, misses. She peers up at me. "I can't change what happened."

She steps out of her sandals. Her muscles tense as she makes her way into the sea, and towards me.

Chris reaches for me, but instead her hands cling to wave speckled belt loops. She dips her head, "I'll try harder." Warm lips attempt to chase away the cold.

"I promise."

End