All Depart From Here

In autumn, I would try to take as many walks down town as I could. I always enjoyed the more crisp weather, the wider range of color in foliage. I remember one day in particular, when the waterfront was as busy as it would be during summer. There was what appeared to be a high school trip here, groups of teens huddling up to take group pictures. After looping around a large pier, I saw what I can only guess was the school’s sports team. They were excitedly reciting a team jingle which I couldn’t quite make out, and would march alongside the rhythm. They happened to be going down the same path I was, but being a leisurely walker, I didn’t make much of an attempt to strictly follow them.

Not much else happened that day, nothing that jumps out at me, at least. People went about their business, not paying much mind to the high schoolers. Someone that I do remember was a rugged old man at a shore side pub. The man was dressed in a sweat shirt and sweat pants, each the same navy blue color and an incredibly tacky looking bright red beanie. His face was like that classic cliché image of the crusty, salty and drunk sailor, a medium sized beard that was a dark grey, large eyebrows, and reddened cheeks and nose. You would expect this guy to either have a grumpy scowl slapped on his face, or be in fits of drunken, roaring laughter. But the look on his face pieced into my heart; he was looking past me, to the beach that I was going near. A rough hand was raised up, covering his tightly closed, but quivering lip. I could see his dark eyes sparkle with tears, despite his intense trembling. I shyly avoided eye contact, so as not to get into an awkward situation. Sometimes I wonder if that was the right decision.

A half hour later, I passed by a cheap and greasy seafood joint, recently closed for the evening, and walked up to the town’s jetty. On my route, this is where I would loop back around and head back home, but something caught my eye off in the distance. Around six hundred meters away, I saw a solid white line: the high school sports team, marching in double file on the beach. They weren’t walking along the beach, but rather charging head on into the sea. I was frozen in place, hoping that they would change directions or something, anything. But they just kept going, forcing themselves deeper, looking like their shoes were filled with lead. A few of the guys were desperately trying to keep their heads above water, struggling to breathe, but they were in the minority. I fumbled for my cellphone, even though I was frantically dashing to the beach, I couldn’t run over in time in order to save them; I had to call 911.

The police managed to get there before I could get there, but they were just idly looking around the beach, not even paying notice to the large white jerseys and drowning bodies in the water. The sheriff was there, and approached me as if I made a call in error. He told me that I must’ve been seeing things, the sea foam could look like a bunch of white clothing from a distance. He would just keep going through these stupid justifications for what I saw, even as I dragged a limp body to the shore. The sheriff looked at me like I was a sad mental patient, clasped his hand on my shoulder and told me that I was only seeing things. He appreciated my concern, but I should be checked out somewhere for my own safety. The body was rolled onto its back by the rising tides. The corpse’s face was pale and lightly blue, small black snails were on his face. In his eyes, in his gaping, deranged, smiling mouth. The sheriff assured me that I was only seeing things that weren’t real. The sea claimed the body once more.

The walk back home was longer, my stroll having become shaken and somber. I passed by the pub once more, the warm orange lights had come on in the evening. I could see that old man, but from the back. Another old man was beside him, his arm wrapped around the shoulders. The sailor one was deeply, silently sobbing. I passed by the large pier once more, noticing a stark white sign with deep blue writing on it: “All depart from here.”

Credited to HyperThermal

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