2. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
6 hours after the Light
Sitting on the dock in the harbour of little Port Haven, I feel almost overwhelmingly human.
A heart is pumping blood inside of me. Lungs are filling up with air, slightly tainted by cigarettes. My hair is drying, my skin still wet, my shirt clinging to me, trying to save me from the freezing, salty wind whipping against me. Waves crash against the wooden posts, fish swim underneath my feet. I kick my feet slightly, weakly.
I fall back onto the dock and close my eyes. I try to picture her face again, but it's disappearing. I can vaguely recall the coldness emanating from her, her icy, small hand gripping mine, but at the same time not even coming close to touching it. Her piercing eyes searching mine and finding exactly what they're looking for, every time. Her smile, her frown, and her dreaded anger...
Lucy. The dead girl without a gravestone. The dead girl without a Light.
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