A young window sits on the beach and contemplates the existence of Sirens.
There is no uncertainty in my steps as I stride to the shore as the surf strikes mercilessly against the sand. I shiver as the breeze shifts my hair against my shoulders. The course grains of sand scrape my skin and slide slowly between my fingers as though siphoned through an hourglass.
I stare at the sand, considering the seconds of my life silently slipping past my fingers. Should I savor these? No, I decide, tossing it away. My feet step through the sandy shower without hesitation.
We were sixteen when we stood side by side on this shore, skirting the waves splashing our bare feet. The sand squished between our toes, and our feet got stuck if we stood too still. As the sun rose over the ocean waves, setting the sea sparkling in the light he seized my arm and pulled me close; with no money for a gift, he promised me the sea.
The sand is so white that the light of the moon bounces off it, bathing the beach in a luminous glow. I silently step through the shore like a specter, a spirit, a shade, a shadow of my former self, and remember when a night like this was enough to make me believe in magic.
It seemed so magical my nineteenth year. We stood on this shore and wed while friends and family beamed as we said our vows. Behind their sweet smiles, they took bets on whether I was pregnant. As the sun set, everybody lined up to cast their seashells into the ocean with a wish for our good fortune. His blue shell flew the furthest, only I saw it wash ashore. It was foolish of me to disregard such an omen. But then I was a fool.