Another late-night tale: A different promise

I stand at the end of the pier and look down at water. This far from the beach, the sea rises and falls in undulating waves, the peaks crested with silver light borrowed from the moon; only nearer shore do the waves break, a susurrant whisper in the quiet night.

Will he come tonight? I wonder, as I have on this night every year since my lover said goodnight. Though I promised to come back, he has never since returned.

I think of his life since my departure. Does he live in solitude, afraid of the emotions love can bring forth? Has he distanced himself from those around him, existing alone in his world? Or has he found another to love? Perhaps he is with her now, laughing and caring, loving and living.

That thought fills me with rage. I am his true love, his first. I am the one he is destined to spend eternity with. No-one but me will ever see the core of his soul and love him with such passion.

A sound along the pier swells my heart but, as the waters beneath me ever ebb, my hope is dashed when I realise it is nothing but the wind caressing the tired bunting hanging between the stalls.

Yet further still, my keen eyes pick out movement. A great shadow is slowly making its way in my direction. Surely this is him – at last my love is coming back to me.

Unable to breath, I watch as the figure struggles forward. He seems burdened by a weight. At first, I believe it to be a metaphorical heaviness, a physical manifestation of the years since our parting stooping his back. I soon realise though the reason for his bent posture. Across his shoulders, he carries another. His other love.

Salt-filled water escape my eyes. Though my love has returned to our spot, he had not done so that we may reunite. Anger lashes through me as a storm whips at the sea. I am tossed and blown, ravaged by the cruel winds of rejection.

He draws nearer and I shuffle forward, leaving wet footprints on the boardwalk. Focused on his task, he does not see me and continues to lead his new love to the wooden railings. Sitting her on the edge, he takes her head in his hand and gently kisses her lips.

‘Goodnight, my sweet Una,’ he whispers.

She does not stir, does not answer – not as I had all those years past. I had screamed my love for him, I had begged and beseeched he return my feelings. But to no avail.

I see now that he had not truly cared for me, that the love and affection he pretended was nothing but a ruse to bring me alone to the pier. Just as he now has Una.

But they are not alone. Not this time. Now, I am here and I am drowning in a fearsome fury.

Brushing wet hair from my face, I stumble forward and let out a bubbling cry.

He turns to me, startled. His eyes widen. His mouth opens in a circle of dread.

And though I am not quick enough to prevent him pitching Una to her own watery grave, I pounce at that mouth and pour in the same brine and water that had choked the life from me all those years before.