I’m stood on a beach facing the sea. My feet are surrounded by rocks and shingle, shells and seaweed. The beach is encased by steep chalky cliffs that crumble like old teeth. The sky is cloudy and coloured in fresh bruise hues of blue, grey and yellow.
I am alone here.
A storm approaches.
I become aware of the sea draining away in front of me. It pulls back into the distance like a sling shot. I feel no fear. Everything is peaceful. There is little noise other than the clumsy cry of a lone seagull who cannot fathom the unfolding events. I guess they aren’t it’s events to fathom.
The horizon bends. It twists and turns like the wringing out of wet clothes. A faint rumble in the distance, a faint shake in the shingle. It’s a wave.
I breathe. I hold my ground.
It approaches, towering above me, a wall of blue and grey, brown and black. This is it, this is where I face myself. I see the darker side of me, like a caged tiger, pacing up and down the boundary of our two worlds. It is evil itself, every fear and worry. It froths with insecurities and self doubt. It wants to finish me. I feel no fear.
I hold my ground.
As it hits, I step through into the other side. Liquid glass infuses the air and I hold my breath. There’s a click. I’m up on a cliff, in a hotel, stirring a cup of coffee and gazing out the window at a bay, contemplating my existence, self deprecating. I see a wave roll in, hitting a small speck of a person, hardly distinguishable against the stones.
There’s a click.
I’m driving my car, there are fields either side of an old A road. The radio breaks in music to report a tsunami hitting a place I’ve never heard of.
There’s a click.
I wake up and I breathe.