(Or at least the fragments of.)
He spoke of a night he spent alone on a boat, under the stars, in the Arctic Sea, where he basked in the glory of Everything. The entire night, he spent, just gazing at the sky, watching the stars slowly drift through the darkness.
Soon, the sun began to rise and he lay still on the wooden platform of his boat, allowing the gauzy glow of the sun to sink into his bare skin. He let his eyes drift from the slow illumination of the sky, to the massive glaciers looming over him, to the ice-cold water, gently licking the bow, begging, incessantly. He knew what he had to do.
He stood up, and, with an air of nonchalance, walked over to the edge of the boat, then took a step or two back, then drove headfirst into the Arctic. With that one, cold splash, he broke the silence.
No comments:
Post a Comment