He looked out west over the sea. Where he was used to high rised opulence and vistas thronged, here was wind and the gentle caress of ocean spray, leaving a taste of salt perched on the curl of his lip. Behind him, out from the rushes of the dunes were his footsteps, already chastened by the winds of time. That same gust passed through him as though he were a ghost, brushing away those moments to the past. For a brief moment, maybe for the first time, he felt at peace.
He surrendered because in that state he was everything. His soul was not constricted by his mind and he was free to soar with the seagulls and bend the horizon that chewed the horizon like a tractor takes the fields. Age in that moment no longer frightened him. This land had been where forebears had spent their lives rotating into one another as surely as winter moves into spring. They would rise with the longer days and consolidate with the night, eventually taking leave with the foliage of autumn and giving themselves to the land anew.
This pattern had until this point eluded him. This severance was pain and had been a part of him his entire life. He had never realised he was screaming. His birth was borne far from all of this like a rabbit in a cage. This cage was what he had been raised to believe as sacrosanct, that it was what he deserved as innate reward for something he could not speak of. What stirred in him was trauma that he tried to satisfy with gold and nourished him like poison. Amidst this confusing corruption, the cage became more of what he deserved. Mistaking the dagger in his heart for ambition, he stretched further, deepening the wound and enveloping millions of others with a cloak that would smother their own connections to what once was. There were countless stories like his of severed people, trying to return to a story that never existed. He embodied all of this, the misguided idea that individualism alone could bring solutions and could vanquish the demon that instead they were summoning greater day by day.
And so on the shore, where for a brief moment he is released from all of this. He is a mirror reflecting the opposite of what he became and the contorted shape his body grew into. He is captivated, all but for the moment it takes a shrew to blink an eye. A tear falls from his face that he doesn’t recognise. This thread is weaved once more and in another life he will have the chance to repent and begin the journey to reclaim his soul. The waves rose and with them he was gone.