Neon Sea

A Chapter by Silent Sonata

On the edge of a moving sea, a group of people await reunion.

“It’s been 5 goddamn hours.” George sighed--resting his head against his hand. From abaft him, Bret stared out a small porthole-like window that hung upon the wall. Through its elegant glass, he watched the sea beam brightly green like a canvas of erupting neon. “Oh God.” George said simply. “Oh God.” Light ribbons of mist-like clouds twirled and danced upon the surface of the sea. With each crashing wave of green, the mist spun rapidly--shooting up into the sky in a puff. “If he’s…” George spat out--catching himself on the edge of admitting it. Bret looked down into the crimson carpet. So fine. So beautiful.

“If he’s what?” Bret asked. He moved his eyes across the marvelous room and to the velvet chair that seated George. George turned, peering at Bret with his wrinkled eyes. Bret already knew the answer.

The mahogany door opened up to a distraught figure--a woman more angles than flesh. She held a phone close to her chest, grasping it dearly like a child would. George’s eyes widened, he propped himself up, ready for any kind of news “Still nothing.” She uttered. George sunk back into the velvet chair--gripping the armrests with his veiny hands. In one more instance he muttered.

“Oh God.”

Bret looked back out the porthole where the sea spun and mixed. The mist flew and floated and coiled in the night sky. Save for the harsh ticking of a clock, the world was silent in the darkness.

“Bret…” The Woman stammered. He turned to see her sinking face. “Val and Izabelle are downstairs waiting for him. Y-you can join them if you like.”

“Thanks Marnie.” Bret said. Marnie nodded and closed the mahogany door.

“It’s best you join them.” George said. “Val needs you and you need Val.” The sea curled up on itself, forming a sort of crescent shape in the mist. “Look,” George said, “Just go downstairs with the others--watch for Isaac--keep them company.”

“What about you?” Bret said. George took a deep, gravelly breath.

“I’ll be fine.”

Bret moved away from the porthole and to the mahogany door. He opened it slowly and calmly--glanced at George--then walked out into the green hallway.

Downstairs, Val, Izabelle, and Marnie sat in absolute stillness. Val turned a wine glass in his restless hand. His eyes focused on nothing--not the crimson carpet, not the blue-textured walls, not the glorious paintings, not the entryway, and not the wide window. His eyes were black as his hair, black as his suit, and black as the longing night.

Izabelle sat next to Val on the edge of sleeping. The only thing that seemed to keep her awake was fear. A deep-rooted fear that held its ground and refused to budge. A fear that the world could stay dark or that the sea would forever spin. The fear however, was not reserved for her. It grew widely above the rest of them, watching every move they made. It floated and spun like the mist above the sea.

Marnie still clenched the phone in her bony fingers. Her wide eyes quivered through the room with a mind of their own. A mind that saw no light and a mind that saw no dark. Instead, with a mind that saw void and limbo--one that saw truth, but discarded it as fiction.

“Bret… I-” Val trembled. “I’m sorry.”

Bret didn't say anything. He instead observed out the wide window--watching the glowing sea bathe the dark rocks in a deep green. “Don’t be.” He said. Val placed his hand across his face, letting a tear or two fall down his cheek.

“If I… If I could… If I could say something. If I could do something. If I was out there.” Val said. “If I…” Nothing. The world was cold, silent, and heartless. Everyone knew that already. There was not a thing one could say or do that would change a thing. Life was as it was: unpredictable and violent, and words nor grief nor the sea could change that. “Remember when he was a child?” Val began. Bret looked down in remembrance. “He used to take fish from the sea and place them in a small bowl filled with water. He used to hide them under the bed.” A faint smile appeared on Val’s face, but it faded quickly. “Oh, how George got so angry when he would find another dead fish in the house. Oh, and how it smelled.” Val pulled out a silver lighter from his pocket--flipping the cap open, sparking a flame, then closing it repeatedly. Etched poorly into the side of the lighter was the word ‘Isaac’. “To be completely honest… I don’t want that car to show up. I don’t want those doors to open. I don’t want to see what’s left.”

Izabelle placed a hand on Val’s arm as tears streamed down his face. Bret glanced at the two caring for each other and wandered his eyes back to the lighter. One last flame erupted before being silenced by the lid.

“You brother is a good man.” Val whispered. Bret watched the mist. “Your brother was a good man.”

Out the wide window--atop a dark mountain vista--a single light penetrated the night. Marnie jumped a little at the sight and tried to speak, but was at lost for words.

“There.”

With that simple spoken word, everyone knew. For a brief moment--even if for a second--Bret, Val, Izabelle, and Marnie knew what it was to feel hope again. Even if it was hollow and false.

The light careened down the mountain, twisting and turning through the blackness. It grew brighter and brighter before splitting into two penetrating lights that came to a halt out the wide window.

A mist glided over the neck of rock that connected the building with the mainland, covering the car in a ghost of white. Life froze in the frigid air and sound became trapped in a lonely void. The mist seemed to breathe and sigh and moan and groan. The sea lifted--gasping its final breath--and spit out a cloud. For a moment, nobody moved and not a sound was made. For a moment, the world was still in its complexity and its mechanics. The world was reduced to a simple point. Reduced to a single view. Then, Marnie burst out the entryway, followed by Bret, Val, and Izabelle. Marnie ran up to the car in an instant while the others lingered behind. Something was stopping them, holding them from advancing. A hidden force that showed no signs of easing.

A man stepped out of the car--broad, grey, and passive. He advanced slowly towards Marnie, who simply fell to her knees, clasping her hands together on her chest. The ghost floated, longing in the night. Emitted by the green sea, it reflected and moved and formed with the soft swaying of the wind. The man looked at the group and simply shook his head. He moved to the back seats of the car where--upon opening the deathly-black doors--a body lay. Not the body of a soldier, not the body of a statistic, and not the body of another person. It was the body of Isaac--the body of a friend, the body of a brother, and the body of a son. The mist froze in place, lasting its time above. The man looked at Bret, at Marnie, he looked at Val, and he looked at Izabelle. The man spoke no words, yet they all knew what he was saying.

From the entryway, George shuffled out onto the black rocks. His face squashed and his eyes watering, he sighed in an incoherent whisper and the ghost dismantled; dispersing into the night sky like smoke. The sea breathed once more, glowing in immensity. Bleak and sorrow crept out from the water, slowly invading the figures that stood upon its rocks. Life was silent, cold, and hollow.

Gathered at the neon sea’s edge, they said their final words and their final thoughts into the wooden coffin that fell upon the rocks. The mist circled them like a predator, a beast waiting to strike. The sea curved, rose, and fell. Like a dying animal, it seemed to squirm and quiver and cry. Val took out the silver lighter once more and flipped open its cap.

“When we were out on the plains of Aftain,” Val Began, “There was this kid, no more than six. He had bruises and marks all over his face and neck. Isaac asked him ‘who did this?’ Didn’t expect the kid to answer. Well, the kid said his parents did it. Now, upon finding out who his parents were, Isaac tells me that they have a reputation for turning kids into soldiers--into weapons. Isaac tried to shut them down, he went to his officials, his generals, his commanders, but no one seemed to listen. They all turned him down, told him ‘it wasn’t their job.’ Two weeks later, Isaac shoots the kid after he attempts a suicide bombing on our base.” Val shook and placed his hand upon the wooden coffin. “If only they listened.” With the spark of the lighter, the wooden coffin exploded in flames and--with one firm push--it split out into the glowing sea--into the mist. It glided upon the green and upon crashing the waves, bobbing up and down like a cloud; it floated gently into the neon sea, like a candle in the wind.