Alternate Ending for “Black Water Night.”
I’d recommend reading that first :). (Click here)
Either way, please enjoy!
***
Hours later…
In the shallows, my legs shook beneath me as I struggled to remain upright. The cold breeze cutting through my dripping clothes, I saw nothing but shades in the faint starlight. I trudged through the sucking mud and stumbled to my knees when my feet finally reached the solid soil.
Didn’t think I would ever feel this…
I crawled forward, my legs protesting each laborious movement, dirt driven under the nails on my right hand as I held the other fist aloft. I had held it high the whole way to shore.
Almost there…
My reaching, claw-like fingers scraped against a boulder in my near-blindness, and I used it to clamber to my feet.
A little farther.
I stumbled and stooped my tortuous way to the door of the pub, my hair lank in the midnight fog. I heard laughter through the cracks around the windows, smelled late night fish and chips, and my stomach growled.
Not yet… not until I’m finished.
I pried my caked fingers apart enough to turn the knob, my joints creaking louder than the weathered door, and I entered.
Inside, the lights stung my eyes, though the others likely thought it dim. All sounds stopped at my appearance, except the old radio playing crackly, forgotten tunes. All eyes turned to me. Some widened in surprise, others squinted in concern.
I ignored all of them; there was only one I had come to see. And I slowly scanned the room.
There she was, near the back of the pub, leaning against the bar with a forgotten drink in her hand. My lips parted, a little of my teeth showing as I inhaled. Then I dragged my unwilling feet across the aged floorboards, leaving thick black mud in streaks behind me.
No one moved at my passing, all frozen for reasons they would likely never understand. They only stared as I arrived before her.
I lowered my left fist, dark water spilling from my sleeve. I wrenched my white knuckles open with my other hand and dropped a disposable camera onto the red stained countertop. Then, selling to understand, I looked deep into her eyes.
I don’t… feel it. How did she inspire him to go out on the water?
I stared a little longer, seeing her glass begin to tremble. I don’t feel it… but I remember. Then I nudged the camera closer and made my slogging way out.
A car with keys in the ignition sat near the pub. It took me a moment to piece together how to open the door, and another moment to discern how to get it started. Some of the things I could recall were more accessible than others.
As the car crept onto the road, everyone spilled out onto the grass. Their dark curiosity leading them from the warm safety of the pub.
Some of their names… I remember some.
I then looked at my face, so different from the foggy memories of shaving that morning, hoping that she would think I looked nice. So different… but that did make sense.
There had hardly been enough of him left to piece back together.
The car revved beneath me, not unlike the motors that had disturbed my rest deep beneath the black water. The searcher’s muddled memories now spoke to peace at the smooth rocking and purring, so it wasn’t so bad. I stretched my new fingers as they slowly grew their feelings back, the warm air blowing across them.
I had nowhere particular to go, nothing particular to do,
But I am hungry…
And for the first time in my long existence, I spoke:
“Yes. Perhaps I should find something… else to eat.“ And, my car turned onto a quiet street lined with darkened houses.
The End.