Inkling 2025 - Flipbook - Page 11
I weave in and out of people and around
shops, taking a sharp turn into an alleyway
beside a run down brick building. I run a
hand across the broken hills of red brick
along the exterior wall, and remember the
feel of a deep cut across my hand; back
when I could still feel. I take a sharp left
out of the alleyway and onto the island’s
easternmost boardwalk. The sun hits my
eyes. Instinctively my hand raises to shade
them. The sun runs right through. “Haah.”
I keep walking as rays of candy sunlight
昀椀lter through breath-dense clouds and
waves roll calm, lazily, knowing the sun
is making them look good. I’m reminded
of crème brûlée. I smell cinnamon and
saltwater, candied to昀昀ee and broken-in
leather. Sandals slap the wood plank of the
boardwalk. I almost can’t see the ocean o昀昀
the coast. There are so many people here
right now.
People - walking in herds, like 昀椀sh caught
in a current. Shopkeepers in stalls, lining
the streets, yelling. Products. Discounts.
Families loitering. Tourists with bright
expressions. A kid throws his churro on the
ground. Teenagers talking by the railing. Is
there a festival going? How did I not hear
about it? This place is full of life.
I need to go.
I rush through the crowd, down the
boardwalk and burst through some trees.
Jogging, my legs carry me to a familiar dirt
path I would know in my sleep. I would
know it at the end of the world.
My gray hair lays 昀氀at, heavy, on my back,
instead of being carried by the seaside
wind. This never gets easier. My legs ache.
My back hurts. Why couldn’t I have been
frozen in a younger body?
I turn the corner and arrive at my
destination: a middling cape cod house by
the ocean.
It used to be a home.
Apparently, It’s going to be a “home” again.
I stalk forward. A truck is parked on the
cobblestone road, movers in baby blue
uniforms pile boxes, a lot of boxes, on the
grassy yard. It smells like fresh paint and
rubber. I thought people only moved here
for tourism?
Two 昀椀gures, a mother and a teenaged
daughter stand in the middle of it all. Their
voices carrying loudly in the seaside wind,
昀椀ghting.
“Why can’t I?”
“Honey, you know how busy I am!” The
mother, tired, desperate, pleads. “I can’t
watch over you there.”
“You haul me all the way to this crumbly
town without asking, and now I can’t
explore it?!” She wants to say more. Instead,
her face hardens. “I’m going inside.”
She slams the front door behind her. I
follow her down into the basement. It’s
dusty, Victorian, 昀椀lled with clutter from the
past. “They won’t look for me here,” she
breathes. Milling, humming, she picks up
random Items. A wooden music box. Old
rusted wrenches. A… locket?
Static erupts in my head. This isn’t right.
She opens it. She shouldn’t have that! NO!
The world breaks down in front of me,
turning polychromatic, green light glinting
o昀昀 red embossing in her hand.
She turns. When her eyes widen, my heart
drops. The world lurches sickeningly; She
stares straight at me.
Can she... see me?
She extendeds the locket out, and I see
why: I’m on it, with… my family. I feel
miserable.
Her hand falls back down, expression
replaced by astonished wonder. No one
moves.
INKLING 2025 | 11
