My friend Dianne Hartsock, ever busy at Breathless Press, is having some Sunday Fun again. Throwing down the gauntlet to my welcome feet, she challenges me yet again with:
It was low season below the old Cliff House, so the wind and surf were biting and cruel off Point Lobos. Braedon had sought privacy to soothe his shattered heart so had returned to the only place he was ever happy, San Francisco. His million dollar looks meant nothing to anyone. The aloof standoffishness of the City’s residents made him feel the cad that he really was. He was once a nobody and would be a nobody again. He earned it, lost it, deserved both and deserved nothing now.
Somehow, the wind and surf swept his stinging pain and replaced it with a numb darkness devoid of sensation. His feet, now red from the piercing surf and unfeeling, shuffled mechanically beneath him. Wanting punishing anonymity, Braedon raised his hoody against the elements. His thoughts escaped the quiet shelter of the Irish wool and he wanted to drop to his knees in the deadening surf and scream to the world…….
“Why, Devon, Why…..?”
Even as the silent, fugitive thought rose, he knew it was his name he should be screaming into the bitter, grey current of pitiless air. He had done that which he detested most in others; he had pretended a lie. He had become the lie and the painful pretense had been released into the light for all to discover. For Devon to discover. At his own hands, he had stabbed Devon in the heart with shards of truth and spikes of lies trying to avoid his guilt. He was a coward in the face of strength. He witnessed Devon’s total collapse under the truth of his betrayal.
Devon had fallen into his arms under the weight of his tears of infidelity. They wept together, to no avail. Devon had been abandoned and the unfaithfulness of Braedon’s duplicity had broken the only bridge of trust either had ever known. It was a breach of faith from which Devon would never return.
It was over. That night, lying in each other’s arms, Devon forgave Braedon’s disloyalty and kissed his tears of regret dry. However generous Devon’s forgiveness, he turned himself over to the weight of the violation, never to awaken the next morning. It was over, over in the roaring surf which stifled the sorrowful screams Braedon cried into the atmosphere below the witness Cliff House.
Cliff House would endure; it had always survived. But, Braedon’s guilt and shame was crushing. He deserved no less than the cold, heartless sentence the unforgiving sea delivered him.
You Write It!
Oh hey. What’s up?
Like this sweater?
Nice enough for our date? And by the way,
what do you have planned for me?
*wink*
Tell us his story!!
And...............so I did. Enjoy The Unforgiving, please.
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| The Unforgiving |
Somehow, the wind and surf swept his stinging pain and replaced it with a numb darkness devoid of sensation. His feet, now red from the piercing surf and unfeeling, shuffled mechanically beneath him. Wanting punishing anonymity, Braedon raised his hoody against the elements. His thoughts escaped the quiet shelter of the Irish wool and he wanted to drop to his knees in the deadening surf and scream to the world…….
“Why, Devon, Why…..?”
Even as the silent, fugitive thought rose, he knew it was his name he should be screaming into the bitter, grey current of pitiless air. He had done that which he detested most in others; he had pretended a lie. He had become the lie and the painful pretense had been released into the light for all to discover. For Devon to discover. At his own hands, he had stabbed Devon in the heart with shards of truth and spikes of lies trying to avoid his guilt. He was a coward in the face of strength. He witnessed Devon’s total collapse under the truth of his betrayal.
Devon had fallen into his arms under the weight of his tears of infidelity. They wept together, to no avail. Devon had been abandoned and the unfaithfulness of Braedon’s duplicity had broken the only bridge of trust either had ever known. It was a breach of faith from which Devon would never return.
It was over. That night, lying in each other’s arms, Devon forgave Braedon’s disloyalty and kissed his tears of regret dry. However generous Devon’s forgiveness, he turned himself over to the weight of the violation, never to awaken the next morning. It was over, over in the roaring surf which stifled the sorrowful screams Braedon cried into the atmosphere below the witness Cliff House.
Cliff House would endure; it had always survived. But, Braedon’s guilt and shame was crushing. He deserved no less than the cold, heartless sentence the unforgiving sea delivered him.
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| Breathless Press Blog |
