From her hideout she could see that the water had receded: the shadow of the bridge was playing in the morning sunshine, the world was silent. Did the horror come from the sea, as in a Lovecraft story? Or did it wait for the high tide to reach its victims?
She knew she could not stay where she was, for it had been safe just for one night, but soon she would have to leave, and resume her journey. Was she on her own, or was there any other survivor? The walk from the wreckage had taken the whole previous day, till late in the night. She’d seen no-one, just heard the horror, the shrieks of agony.
Then the hideous shadow appeared, reflected by the water, approaching slowly, across the bridge…
As I sit at the keyboard I hear your footsteps: you’re standing behind me, and I can feel the warmth of your smile. Turning towards you I see you are already wearing your running gear, the knee-length black leggings, the light blue t-shirt – o my. “C’mon jarhead, time to shake your bulk!” The sun is out, a little breeze waves through the long grass, as we warm up on the path that follows the railway line. I am following you, dreaming, my eyes riveted on those lovely oscillating buttocks and legs. Of course, I miss a step, trip and nearly flatten my “bulk” in deep mud. I hear the crystal bells of your laugh, now well ahead of me: catching you up, my love, is no easy challenge, but I try. Now we approach the motorway bridge, which flies over the railway, leaving just enough space for the path to pull underneath to the other side, then there is a gate and a little hill. Running up the hill you clearly show the advantage of lightness: at half my weight there is no way I can compete with you – but you don’t expect me to, you slow down and blow me a kiss: the sunlight plays in your hair, slowly I catch up, and we run now next to each other, over the footbridge, now above the motorway, through the sports fields, following the road back to our house.