She came in that night, when the fog was thick over the harbor and the wharf was deserted and dead. In the darkness, I had passed through the barricades, ignoring the notices to the public of the unsafe and condemned nature of the old pier. The night was only known in the short passes of the distant lighthouse beam; outside its offered guidance, all was darkness and obscurity. I had come out to get away, to be alone, and I stood there over the weathered boards, the shadows once again crawling back in the wake of the light, listening to the lapping waves below, a ringing buoy out in the bay, and smelling the salty-fishy odor.
The blaring music of the party could still be heard as well, a faint echo from the hall, and I felt a memory of her as we swayed to another tune, to a gentler song, so long ago, as I held her form in my arms, as she rested her head on my chest. Another tune, another place, another time, another me. Who was I now? The flashing lights of the party, the bleating music, the young and smiling faces made me feel so old.
My heart longed for darkness, but I could see the beam of the lighthouse, revealed in the fog, rolling toward me. Suddenly, all was white and bright, and the rot and decay of the wharf was clear to my eye. I lifted my head, turning toward the sea. As the light passed over, I saw her dark outline in the mists, slow, lumbering, and huge; invisible up till now, at her sudden, dark, and silent outline, I froze and gaped, my heart stopping in my chest.
Tale Told 