The waning moon casts its soft, ephemeral glow upon the shore. No clouds are in sight – none, save for those lingering on the fringes of my psyche. I lean back, listening to the rhythmic movement of the waves; in and out, out and in, it does not matter, so long as it continues. The wind picks up, rustling the delicate fronds above, whispering into the night stories it had picked up from the mouths of ancient mariners. Some stories are about treasures, those that were lost to the swift, unyielding sea; others are about life and love, of those lost in the pursuit of wants, and those gained from the want of a pursuit.

I run my hand through the white sands that surround me. The velvety grains trickle out of my hand, as if an hourglass had burst upon my palm. But time is meaningless here.

The wind dies down, searching elsewhere for those who will listen. I am left alone with the ocean once more, and find myself scanning the horizon. My eyes are greeted only by the pinpricks of light in the sky, save for a small patch far away. There, no light emanates. I gaze at this spot, transfixed, as it slowly grows outward, extinguishing more of the twinkling dots. The moon glows strongly against the darkness, but I know it is a losing battle.

A light breeze stirs, and the smell of the sea grows stronger. It is a scent of mystery, of intrigue. It calls some, but repels others. It calls me.

The waves surge forward, lapping at my toes. The water is cold, a sort of chilling numbness that is oddly comforting in connection to the sound of the waves. I wonder about the first people to enter into the ocean. They must have feared it, and loved it, for its dual ability to soothe and smother. Another surge, and the water engulfs my once-dry shorts, stopping only just before my bare torso. I suppress a shiver and stare out at the horizon again, watching as more of the sky is blotted out, as if an inkwell had spilled upon the midnight sky. The waves continue their calm, enchanting melodies.

I hear a voice, a faint murmur that distracts me from the sound of the ocean waves, if only for a moment. The rich deepness and calm of the voice is betrayed only by a hint of brittleness, as of a diamond about to shatter. “Not responding… damage… make final preparations…”
Images flash by. A red surfboard. The looming wave. Another person, female, calling to me. Then black, all black.

I shake my head and push the voice and images away. The waves are approaching my neck, but I take no notice. I lean back, listening to the rhythmic movement of the waves; in and out, out and in, it does not matter, so long as it continues...