.: footprints on the {sand} // Rosetta

Silver Emmend

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I've got this friend
I don't think you know her
She sings a simple song
It sounds a lot like mine

A warm breeze. Bending palm trees. A scream.

My feet stumble as I follow the familiar beaten path to her house. It's a memorized trail I've walked many times before, through unbearable heat and chilled rainstorms. Somedays I go to tell her something, or give her something. Other times, I go just so I can see that she's safe. Ever since I lost her that day, I've always gotten the sudden feeling that she's in danger at random timess during the day. I need to feel her warm hand in mine, to see her face, in order to reassure myself that she's still alive and well. At night, I'll toss and turn under the hot sheets, dreaming of staring down at her unmoving form, her fingers icy as they cling to mine for the last time, her eyes focused on nothing. I'll shake her shoulders and press my ear to her silent chest and cry, holding her against me, and the next morning I'll practically fly to her home and pound on her door just to make sure that her death was only a nightmare and nothing more.

That's not the case today, though. Today, I was struck quite suddenly by the memories. Memories that a poor, young girl should not have. I stood up and the whole world tilted to the side as my stomach tied itself again and again. My heart wouldn't stop pounding and I couldn't breathe. I could still hear them, their voices arguing and calling out to one another and, on a rare occasion, laughing. And then a flash of red would blind me as one by one they met their terrible ends. They didn't deserve it. None of them did, not even the ones that weren't even vaguely friendly. When we got home we were swarmed by people telling us how terrible it must of been, how unfortunate we are, how sorry they are for us. But it's hard to feel self pity for yourself when they're lying on the island, hard as stone and just as dead.

A promise. The swish of the waves. A drop of blood.

I approach her home unannounced, as always, and quietly knock on the solid wooden door. The house is probably the same size as mine, but it is filled with warm love while mine stands cold and empty, a shell of what a home should really be. I look down dark hallways and into sparsely furnished rooms and all I can think of is the people who should be there but aren't. If my life were normal, I'd have a mother in the kitchen making me scrambled eggs in the morning, a father who comes home from work and kisses me on the top of the head before going to read the paper in his big crimson chair, and a grandmother who knits me scarves out of soft yarn and her own ancient love. But they are not there, so instead my house is inhabited by ghosts - whispers of people I long to have, but have long since lost to death's dark grasp.

I will never be the same.

Yucca opens the door, and for a moment all I can feel is relief that her heart is beating and her limbs still move. There was a time when I thought her lost, back on the island, and I shed more tears than I thought humanly possible. My heart had been torn out and I was left to wander white beaches alone for the rest of my life, which admittedly could very well end up being quite short, considering there was a murderer on the loose who was picking us off one by one. The fear didn't end when I found her again, though. No, even as I held her in my arms for the first time in months, I was still terrified of losing her. Back here, in the district, things hardly got better. People interviewed us and crowded around us and blocked my view of her, and no matter how much I called and tried to push people out of the way, I still couldn't see the telltale flash of snowy white locks. I did not react well to losing her. Vaguely, I remember punching someone. The feel of her fingertips just barely brushing mine. My mind has erased the aftermath of my panic, but I'm sure things did not go well.

"I need you," I say plainly, feeling very much like a young child. It isn't the first time I've done this - come to her house without any reason other than the strong desire to be with someone who understands - and so I know that she won't hesitate. There's a place down on the beach where we go, underneath the piers. It's secluded and quiet, and at this time of day, with the sun just about to dip below the horizon, I am certain it will be beautiful. "Please?"

Oh I've got this friend
Holding onto her heart
Like it's a little secret
Like it's all she's got to give

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