From here, from his position at the pier, he cannot see the sun. He knows it’s there. He can see its blood orange rays seeping through from the thin clouds.
He leans on the rails and the sea is quiet beneath his feet.
He lights a cigarette and he holds it between his fingers. He pockets his lighter and finds his notebook. He takes out his notebook and flips it open to gaze through it, wondering what he can do with his time now.
It’s barely seven in the morning and he’s already out here. No one else seems to be awake. He doesn’t even see boats moving out at the sea.
The wind blows and it is cool. He wonders how long that will last. His cigarette goes out.
The sky is red and orange and pale blue. He wants to take a photo to remember this sight. He doesn’t take out his phone. He drops his cigarette into the sea and then takes out a pen. He starts writing on his notebook.
He writes nonsense, to start with. He doesn’t know what to write, so he writes about the sea and the sun and the lack of boats. Then he starts writing about his life and then he can’t see the page very clearly anymore. He wipes at his eyes and pockets his pen and notebook, deciding that writing is not a good way to spend his time.
He turns back to the sea and he sees that the sun has moved up. The rays shine down on the part of the island that he doesn’t really pay attention to. There are buildings and people are beginning to mill around, tossing ropes here and there and doing things that must be important.
Soon, there is a boat coming toward his side of the pier. He watches it. He watches as it disturbs the water and fill the air with noise. He doesn’t lean closer to it. He doesn’t hear the way the waves crash against the boat.
The sea is silent to him. There is nothing in his ears but the sound of the occasional morning bird and the engine of the boat. He hears the wind when it comes blowing but then silence when it leaves.
He hears the people behind him, heading toward the park. He ignores them as they ignore him.
He stares ahead of him and he watches the sea move. It looks like it’s breathing, he thinks. He wonders what’s below its depths. He wonders.
He stands at the pier and he wonders.
Categories: short stories
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