The Woman on the Shore; a flash fiction story.

I find something mysterious about water after dark. It’s like no other mood. The air is still. The moon casts silver on black tar. I sit here after a walk because I like the mystery.

A woman walks along the shore. She is the only other person here. Not unusual, really, for this time of night. It is a pleasant time to walk along the lake’s edge, quiet and peaceful. I watch her from my bench higher up on the shore.

Something about this woman catches my attention. She walks with a steady, yet unusually hasty pace for someone wandering along the lake at night. Her legs are steady and purposeful, her stride wide. Her unbending footsteps are those of a frightened child.

Her arms hang by her sides, barely swinging, with her gaze fixed straight ahead. Her face is static and unwavering as she stares off into the distance. No smile, no frown. What is she thinking? What is she feeling?

The faint outline of her face shows me she is in some kind of trance. Her face is fixed and unwavering as she stares off into the distance before her.

What is going through her mind? Does she have a family? A partner? Children? Is she alone? Has she lost something or someone? Has fear overcome her? Is she planning something–to see an end to what she has known in this life? A feeling of despair, or perhaps desperation. Perhaps something has gripped her heart with an unknown she cannot bear.

She continues her pace, her gaze never changing as the water laps at her feet. Her footsteps are steady and methodical. She has a determination somewhere deep in her mind as she makes her way along the shore.

What does she see around her on this mysterious night? Is she lost in the deepest crevices of her mind that are as dark as this night? Perhaps she is seeking solace, a much needed rest. Perhaps she welcomes the dark to shield her from a blinding light she cannot bear. The enigma of this night encircles the woman in its solemn embrace.

A stiff gust whips up her light scarf which slaps her in the face. She doesn’t flinch. Her hands remain steady at her sides. Her face is relentless cold stone and a feeling of foreboding hits me in the gut.

I cannot truly know what is behind her vacant stare. Does she know what gifts the darkness has for her? She cannot see them right now but they will reveal themselves. Like the light of the moon reflected on black water–its light cast by the sun hidden from her–is a harbinger of the sun that will rise again.

She continues along the shore, footsteps steady and unyielding. Arms draped by her sides, she vanishes into the night.