The sky was a patchwork of grey that morning. An alarm rang in its familiar tones, and a hand reached out from beneath the duvet it was concealed under, to silence it. Logan wiped the sleep out of her eyes as she rose, traipsing downstairs for a coffee. It didn’t look the sort of day to be outdoors, although she disacknowledged this. A note was quickly scrawled and left on the kitchen counter, though it probably wouldn’t be read- Lucy, who she shared the house with, tended to have the knack of disregarding those kinds of things. She locked the door behind her as she left, leaving the mail [bills, no doubt] in the letterbox for later.
The beach was abandoned as she arrived. After all, seemed an unlikely destination on a day like this. She came here often, mostly with a camera, but that day her hands were empty. Walking towards the sea brought the sounds of the waves closer, and as she tossed a pebble from the ground into the water, ripples formed on the surface of where it had sank. The horizon was particularly beautiful that day, almost having something enchanting about it. A deep inhalation of the crisp sea air cleared her head a little, and she watched the waters rise and fall, rhythmatically. A shadow was cast upon the stones as she stood there. Alone.
Although in her dreams, it would be different. The arms of another would be wrapped around her waist, and they’d stand there in silence, sweet nothings exchanged generously. Hours could pass, and perhaps they’d be holding hands by now, or Logan’s sweater draped around her shoulders to keep her warm. It could get quite bitter up there sometimes. She’d be protesting, not wanting her to catch a cold. As the sun began to disappear, their silhouettes would merge together as one, as would her scent with the salt in the air. And she was beautiful, much more so than the horizon. But she wasn’t there.
Logan’s hands had emerged from her pockets. They were shaking slightly, tips red raw from the cold. She shivered a little, although perhaps not from the wintery breeze biting at the back of her neck. A few gulls drifted by overhead, with calls although unanswered, quite persistent. God knows what they were after. The faint creases of a smile had lingered upon the girl's face whilst fantasizing, although little was to be seen in her eyes now, grey, like the clouds threatening to rain above her head. She rotated slowly where she stood to take in her surroundings in more detail, noticing a figure leaning on a stick in the distance. It had body language which made it seem to be watching, analysing, but she thought not to give it much notice.
Gravel crunched behind her a couple of minutes succeeding this. The footfalls didn’t seem heavy, yet they held an uneven pace. It was somehow slightly intriguing. The man hesitated somewhat as he approached the place where she was standing, but after a moment he stepped a little closer. His figure was smaller, more fragile looking than hers, and he barely came up to her shoulders as he looked up into her face. There were worn looking spectacles resting upon his nose, and each line on his face seemed to have a story of its own to tell. In some ways he resembled Logan’s late pa, before he had passed away. The man appeared beaten and weathered, like the rocks he rested his stick upon, loping grace unstable.
Neither person spoke in that hour of each others presence. At one point, the man seemed to almost put an arm around the girl, but thought better of it before doing so. The temperature had deteriorated in that time and he gathered up his stick, turning to leave. Logan inclined her head in farewell to the stranger she’d felt almost a connection to. After a moment or two in self enquiry, she decided to turn back herself.
The streets were long and empty as she passed through them, unpopulated town devoid of the usual commotion. Briefly stopping off at the convenience store for those compulsory items Lucy had somehow missed whilst shopping the previous day, Logan turned the last few corners, soon reaching the front door of home. After stuffing a letter into her pocket [electricity bill, lovely!] and discarding the note from the counter, she slipped off her sneakers onto the mat beside the back door, where they were always left.
There was an additional pair of shoes sitting next to the ones she’d just removed, and the girl paused for a while in thought. They were familiar. Hadn’t been there for months either. But they wouldn’t be, couldn’t be there now. Not unless…
Whilst passing through the hallway, she had noticed the sitting room door to be ajar. Nothing extraordinary, probably Lucy and her movies again, being the avid sci-fi fan she was. Although she hadn’t stopped to breathe properly. In the inhalation she savoured the scene, anticipated, became intoxicated. She exhaled with a sigh, contentment.
You know, they always say that ‘home is where the heart is’.
Logan’s had finally returned.
Okay, it's not brilliant. I know that.
Product of late night boredom and whatever came to mind. Mm.