The Shore
By Morgan Murphy.
Part One
The sound of clean water gently sliding back and forth with
the tide is quite possibly one of the most pleasurable sounds there is. A
seagull calling out as it glided high above the water. this was all I heard. The air felt thick with
sea spray vapour making every breath more satisfying than the last. The sun was
up but not forcing its heat upon the beach below. The beach was vast and wet.
It had rained almost all morning and as the afternoon came the sun had begun
slowly drying the sand below.
A small wooden structure protruded from the sand, known as a
groin to the Americans whose country I lay beached in. This was the only
survivor of a long line of groins that had been weathered and washed away.
Those solitary wooden beams caught seaweed and pebbles and just few metres
further along was the perfect spot for flotsam and washed up bodies. This was
where I lay. Amongst the sand. My shoes touching the tide as it came in.
I could feel nothing. I instantly thought I was dead, then
realised I could not be. If I were dead I would not have been having the
thoughts that brought me to consciousness. I could smell the sea and I noticed
my body was almost paralysed. My eyes stung and my mouth was dry. Half of my
face lay on the soft sand. I was neither cold nor hot. I felt like something
was not right. I had literally no idea how I had manifested on this beach within
an inch of my life.
When I noticed the first body I assumed the person that lay
still was simply asleep. But upon close inspection the face was completely
unanimated and pale. The shock that took hold of me would be hard to describe. I
turned over to get a proper look into the lifeless face. He didn’t look
familiar and I found it hard to feel sympathy for those I don’t know or care
for. I hoisted my aching head up and caught a look at the rest of my body. My
clothes were wet and sandy of course but I noticed I was wearing my favourite tweed
suit. Then the sun shot its rays right into my eyes so I had to lie back down
again.
At the time I thought perhaps I was in a plane crash. Or
maybe even a boating accident. Mine and the body of the poor fellow next to me were
so out of place here. Both lying fully clothed, drenched with sea water and covered
in sand. I turned my head to the right and saw the wooden groin standing strong
in the sand. The wood was dry, splintered and very old. The sun had burned down
on the beach for the remaining hours of the morning and by now it cannot have
been later than noon. The best wood to start a fire going is the driest wood,
the best place to find dry wood is at the beach. Wood on the beach will usually
have had its moisture completely removed by the surrounding sand. I remembered being
a teenager back in England and going to beach in the summer. Searching for fire wood along the
rocks just above the sandy beach. My friends and I would drink wine and smoke
our pipes until the moon was high above the sea. I could remember these times
so vividly, yet the present was more of a mystery to me than most of my treasured memories.
The second body lay a few meters up from me towards the
groin and further inland. He lay on his front and I could see the soles of his nice
shoes. I noticed something protruding from his back, for a moment I thought it
was a small black bird sitting between his shoulder blades. With my head cocked
at this angle I felt the first notions of pain. And trying to focus on the
second body made me realise the state I was actually in. My hair was wet but
not only from the sea water. I could see blood in the sand next to where my
head was imprinted.
At last I felt I had regained control of my body, I sat up
and felt the sand fall from me into my lap. The sun escaped behind a cloud for
a moment and everything felt darker and more real. I moved my knees and dragged
my legs towards me. I felt old and tired. All my feelings came back to me and
it felt like death was properly upon me. I fingered about my body and felt
numerous places about myself that were bruised and stung to the touch. I ran my
hand through my hair and felt the head wound the blood had slowly poured from. It
wasn’t running very heavily with blood at this point though and the hair around
it was beginning to cling to my scalp, the blood was crisper than an open wound
would suggest. I stretched my arms, they creaked and popped simultaneously.
I was so tired and drained, I was also afraid. My heart was
thumping very hard inside me as if it was the only force keeping me alive. I pulled
my tweed jacket off and placed it by my side, my shirt clung to my skin and there
were flecks of blood stained into the white material. One of my braces was
broken and hung lose alongside my leg. The other two men did not stir. I was
suddenly very uncomfortable about their presence. They were both lying so
still, I stared at the one closest to me. I desperately gazed at his chest to
see it rise and fall but it did not move. I rubbed my eyes as the sun came back
out from behind the clouds. I began to walk up towards the rocks away from the
shore. I remember stumbling and falling back into the warm soft sand. As I raised
back to my knees I looked to my left at the second body and wondered whether
the bird was still on his back. But the bird was not there, in fact it had never
been there. What I thought was a black bird was the black handle of a large
knife that had been struck between the dead man’s shoulders. His striped suit jacket sunk inwards towards the wound and blood reached across his back on the damp material.
The knife made me see something, a memory. Did I kill this man? I thought for a
moment. The idea of killing was never something that I thought I would be
placed with. I had no feelings of guilt or previous murders. I remembered not
having to concern myself with death much, I had no close family members and
never had to mourn for loved ones. I wasn’t a killer, I felt that at least. I was
a lonely man, I could not picture a single familiar face. I tried to remember being
on the beach with my friends collecting the dry wood for the fire but that memory
was so long ago the people I was with were no longer familiar. I needed to know
what had happened. I reached underneath the dead wet man and pulled his
shoulder up and pushed him back to see his face. His eyes were wide open and
filled with sand.
I knew him. I knew his face. Even with its distorted hideous
expression and bruised complexion. I scraped the sand out of his eyes, mouth
and nose. I lay him in my arms. How did
this happen? There were no answers in front of me. As I sat there listening
to the tide and the gulls above me. I looked down at the man I somehow knew. His
head was heavy and his hair was wet on my lap. I tried not to contort him
further but the knife in his back and the stiffness of his body disturbed me
deeply. His suit was purple and cream with pinstriped jacket and trousers. His whole
appearance was familiar from his nice shoes to his thin black moustache. He was
my friend.
No comments:
Post a Comment