Flash Fiction 24: Poseidon's Message

I sat motionless, seemingly for hours, watching the waves crest out of the dark to crash on the beach. The horizon disappeared as ocean and night sky merged -- a blank slate, broken only by the constantly forming and reforming scribbles of white. As the waves crested they wrote the God's messages -- if only I could read them.

I was not alone on the beach, although it felt that way. Farther down and slightly ahead of me I could see the telltale glow of a lit cigarette. It's owner too was alone and quiet, although not quite as comfortable with stillness as I. He did not know I was there; it was an unusually powerful feeling. Voyeresque and yet not, for there was nothing to be seen in the dark of night; nothing to be heard over the crashing of the waves on the rocks. But in observing him my self-awareness rose, as did my consciousness of all that was around me -- from the sensuously soft sand beneath my feet, to the little tree bug that landed harmlessly on my shoulder, I was attuned to it all.

My mind whirled and mentally I berated myself for neglecting to bring a pen and paper, but how could I have known that in the dark of the night I'd see more clearly than ever by daylight?

I settled as I realized this was not a moment to be captured, but one to be lived. The cigarette down the beach disappeared with a last ember flickering out; shortly thereafter the shadows moved and the man left me alone, never realizing my presence.

My mind drifted from one topic to another -- covering many but calmly -- not the frantic buzz I was so used to. It seemed as though time had slowed to allow me to sort through the chaos and learn what was important. And as the ocean continued writing it's dramatic message, I eventually found a level of understanding I'd only ever dreamed of. Perhaps, as it turns out, I can read Poseidon's script after all.