Rising Tide

By: FantasyIssue

1: What Makes You Wait?


"What makes you wait for me?" he asked, staring into the water. It was the dead of night and silence filled the air. He sat on the dock, watching the water lap at the supporting pillars. He could not see into the darkness of the water. Light was scarce, save for the moon. But he knew, in his hearts of hearts, that she was just beneath the surface of the blackness of the water.

She held her breathe, looking up at him. With the cloak of the night water, he was still able to look directly at her. Their eyes connected and she wanted to scream at him. She wanted to throw him into the water and keep him under. She wanted to hit him. A lifetime away and there he stood, gray and old, searching for her.

He sat on the dock, folding his legs over the edge so that his feet entered the darkness of the water. His bones settled to the worn out places of his body, pulling and falling to places that now ached. It had been a long time since he had been to the dock, looking out into the night water of the ocean before him. It had been so long that the smell of the salt water made him thirsty and the feeling of sand against his skin irritated him. He was worn out and tired.

Her anger bubbled up inside of her. She could feel it from one end to the other end. Her finger tips tingled with the desire to strangle him. Her throat clenched as she held down her voice. Her body shook with the rage that filled her. If possible, she imagined that her eyes glowed red with fire.

"I don't know how, but I know you're there," he laughed, splashing the night water with his foot. The ripples of the surface fell just above her head and she involuntarily swam closer to the surface. As much anger that boiled in her veins, she just wanted to be closer to him. The ripples that spread through the water was so inviting and she just wanted to touch it. To feel his touch in the night water.

Her fingertip broke through surface, soaking in his touch. The anger inside of her started to subside as she took him in, feeling him through the night water.

He saw the delicate tips of her fingers come into the moonlight and he sighed. Somehow, even in the darkness of the night, her fingers reflected the moonlight. The pointed tips of her fingers, the round sharpness of her fingernails hadn't changed in the forty years since he had last seen her. He wondered if she had aged at all. Do people of the ocean age? He could not remember if she ever told him, or if with age and life he had forgotten.

She emerged from the water. First it was her fingertips, followed by the softness of her palm and the delicateness of her wrist. The top of her head broke through the water and the rush of the night air sent chills through her spine. Her wet hair felt heavy as she come out of the water, her eyes just breaking through enough for her to adjust to the moon's light. She stared at him, sitting there in worn out clothes and a coat that looked heavy and warm. Her eyes narrowed as they met his, saying all of the profane curses she wanted to spew at him.

"What makes you wait for me?"

He was taken aback. She had emerged up to her shoulders and there she floated in the water. Not a day older than the last time he had seen her, the youthfulness of her skin glowed, somehow, brighter than the moon. He felt his heart jump into this throat and the tight knots of his stomach churning. He was suddenly incredible nervous and irrevocably terrified.

"Patience."


Until next time folks! Thanks for reading. Please consider reviewing and letting me know what you think. I'm getting back into the swing of creative writing after a few years of doing quantitative research. Time to brush off some dust. Your time and feedback is appreciated!